


Parivaar,Sem'ya, Familie

by PreRaphaelites



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Also. Languages. Maybe., F/M, I can't guarantee there won't be angst because you know... I'm writing this, Kalagang, Post Special, That doesn't go well either tbh, Wolfgang and Kala adjust to life post-BPO starting with introducing him to her family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreRaphaelites/pseuds/PreRaphaelites
Summary: ("Family"transliterated from Hindi and Russian, and in German.)Kala's divorce isn't going too smoothly, so Wolfgang joins her in Mumbai. This fic was started before the Special was aired, so not canon compliant. At this point, just think of it as a Kalagang AU.





	1. Wolfgang

Months after the fallout over BPO - after the rescue in London, after the showdown in Naples - Wolfgang sits on a plane, on his way to Mumbai. He taps his knee with a restless finger until Kala reaches for his hand and squeezes it gently.

“Hi,” she says, smiling, eyes luminous. She is already at the airport in Mumbai, sitting alone under a colorful mobile in the international terminal even though his flight is still not arriving for 45 minutes. Her excitement thrums through their connection. “I've missed you.” She bites her lower lip to stifle a grin, but he smiles back softly, rubs his thumb along her fingers.

“I've missed you too,” he murmurs lifting their joined hands to press a kiss against her knuckles.

Kala returned to Mumbai six weeks ago to see her family and to explain everything to them: where she has been and why; that she's an entirely different species than they are ("technically _homo sensorium_ , or _sensate_ "); that she's connected to seven others scientifically; that she's connected to one in particular.

Very much _in particular._

She touches Wolfgang's face, traces the faint scar that runs parallel to the crease of his dimple. His body is marked by several scars, and her smile falters thinking about the most recent ones.

“Hey,” he admonishes gently, feeling the direction of her thoughts. He tilts her chin up to meet his steady blue gaze. “I'm fine.”

He's not, really. The war is over, but she knows he has bad dreams: that certain sounds make him jump; closed spaces make his heart race. But she is there for him. All of them are there for him: their Cluster and the sensates who are new friends, allies. They help him, even though he protests.

He is much better. But he is not “fine”.

For now, Kala merely nods and gives Wolfgang a watery smile. She lets it go because she doesn't want to dampen the thrill they feel beneath the anxiousness. They've been physically separated for six weeks. Six. Weeks.

“Are you alone?” Wolfgang asks, voice low, mouth suddenly quirking to a suggestive smirk.

She laughs a little and gives an embarrassed shake of her head. “Not exactly.” She looks around and he is with her in Mumbai, at the airport. She is partially obstructed from prying eyes by a large plant, while people pass by and Sanyam Dandekar is on the phone, standing in a spot that apparently gives his cell phone decent reception.

Kala peeks over the potted plant and catches her father's attention. He waves, points helplessly at the phone pressed against his ear, before he resumes his conversation and turns away again.

“Even though he has an important catering event for this evening, he insisted on coming with me to meet you,” she says apologetically. She turns back to Wolfgang and they are once more sitting together on the plane, hands entwined.

“Of course he would.” Wolfgang gives a quiet sigh, disappointed but not surprised. “He doesn't know anything about me. Except . . ." Wolfgang raises his eyebrows at Kala, and she blushes a deep red at his expression. “You could have waited to tell them, you know.”

“I know. But I'd just told them about the divorce." She had insisted on telling her parents everything during one long, confused, family dinner. And now, in addition to their sensate connection, her parents know that Wolfgang is the man for whom she left Rajan. “I didn't want to surprise them about you. About us.” Her fingers flutter against Wolfgang's; she gives a faint smile. “I don't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to make excuses. I just want to be with you.”

He feels the conviction in her words, and his heart swells, fiercely protective of what they have. He touches his forehead to hers, kisses her before he leans back against his seat. "Kala," he murmurs, pragmatic once more, “I’m sure finding out about us was only slightly less upsetting than knowing about BPO."

“That's not true, Wolfgang,” Kala protests, but she frowns ruefully. Of course her parents had been horrified to learn about BPO: They had cried and fretted and hugged her as if to assure themselves she was truly with them. Wolfgang watched her explain the science of what she is; explain why she had been gone for so long, answer several questions about the months she'd disappeared from them.

But then Kala had taken a deep breath, and before he realized what she was doing, she'd confessed the rest: about her wedding, her marriage. The divorce. _Him_.

He felt Kala's agitation before she shut him out to spare him her parents’ reactions. He’d seen enough to know they were predictably shocked, probably horrified. And if he's honest, he'll admit that he was more than half afraid she would cave under their censure; that the guilt would be too difficult.

But Kala had nearly lost him. When she thinks of her parents after announcing the pending divorce - confused, disbelieving,  ultimately disappointed - it is nothing compared to the terror she felt when she believed Wolfgang was gone forever. And she knows with absolute certainty that while she wants her parents' blessing, their disapproval doesn't matter; she will not willingly lose Wolfgang.

That was just a few weeks ago. And in that time, the idea that there is a new man in Kala's life is somehow still more difficult to comprehend than that Kala is a different species. There is no logic, no science to explain Wolfgang. She simply loves him.

All of her thoughts and emotions flash through Wolfgang, and he turns slightly to look at her again. “Maybe we should give them more time to adjust,” he says, not for the first time. “Maybe wait until the divorce is final. Wait _with_ me.” Wolfgang had gone back to Berlin, the threat of the Kings -and Lila - no longer there.

Kala shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I'm done hiding from my own family. And who knows how long the divorce will take? The longer we wait, the harder this will get.” He understands that Kala doesn't need to add “for me”. She needs him there, beside her, in real life and not just through their connection, now that the divorce is dragging, becoming much more difficult than either of them had expected. Wolfgang nods, resigned.

In Mumbai, he gets up from the space behind the potted plant and watches Sanyam speak firmly on the cell phone, arm waving to emphasize a point. Sanyam is clearly annoyed, but he catches his daughter’s eye again, gives an exaggerated shrug, and suddenly grins, winking at her.

A great, warm feeling, likely Kala's, seeps through the connection. “I hope he doesn't hate me.” The words spill before Wolfgang has a chance to recall them, before he can stomp them down and hide behind indifference. But the truth is that he understands the closeness of Kala's family, especially her relationship with her father. She loves him, and, Wolfgang admits reluctantly, he wants Sanyam's approval.

Wolfgang is back in his seat on the plane, Kala beside him.

“My father will love you,” she says, with so much conviction in her voice that Wolfgang permits himself a small smile. She leans over and kisses him softly on the mouth. “You'll see.”

His hand reaches up to cup her face before she sits back. He tilts his head and kisses her deeply, drawing comfort from the promise in her kiss.

Kala lifts her head. “I love you,” she says softly. “I'll see you soon.”

He nods, more to assure himself than her.

...

“Kala.”

Kala looks up, attention refocusing on her surroundings. She smiles at her father, makes room for him to sit next to her.

“All good?” she asks, slightly breathless, excited for Wolfgang's arrival. She notices the expression on her father's face and frowns in concern. Half way to the airport, his cell phone had gone off. The event planner who hired him has spoken with him three times since this morning, frantic over the appetizers.

Sanyam sighs, shakes his head as he sits down next to Kala. “This time,” he says, "she questions whether the bhindi amchur is too spicy and should be replaced by the paneer pakoras instead. I've told her several times I can make it less spicy, but now she asks me what if what _I_ think is not spicy is, in fact, very spicy.” He shrugs, and gives a chuckle. “There's no pleasing some people,” he says, tucking his cell phone back into his shirt pocket.

“The dinner is tonight! You just can't change things last minute, especially for such a large number of people.” Kala scowls, frustrated for her father. "That is ridiculous."

“Yes, yes. But it’s still a nice opportunity,” he responds, much more forgiving. The event itself is a business awards ceremony in the city center, where he has never catered before. “That was good of Rajan to recommend me," he adds.

Kala nods in agreement, although she suspects her father would have been perfectly content to run the family restaurant in relative anonymity. She wonders if he accepted the job more as a favor for Rajan than the other way around.

They are silent for a minute or two before  Sanyam shifts to face his daughter more easily. “Kala,” he asks, tone delicate, “does Rajan know that this man is coming here? Did you tell him?”

Kala's brows furrow. Since telling her parents about Wolfgang, they've asked her almost nothing about him. She thought they accepted that part of her story, as difficult as it was to hear. When her father insisted on coming with her to the airport, she'd been surprised only because she knew of the big catering job. Kala tilts her head. “I did not tell Rajan,” she says slowly. “Why do you ask?”

Sanyam selects his words carefully. “Things will be awkward if Rajan doesn't know and you're seen with this - with Wolfgang,” he says, testing the name. He's only said Wolfgang’s name once before, on the night she told him about Wolfgang's existence. “Rajan should know, so it's not a surprise.”

“Oh.” Kala gives a small exhale. She's not quite sure what to make of her father’s request. “I do not think Rajan will be surprised to see Wolfgang here,” she finally says. “He's _met_ Wolfgang. Rajan knows about him; that we have a - a special bond.” She pauses, suddenly suspicious. “Dad,” she asks bluntly, “are you _really_ concerned about Rajan? Or is there something else that bothers you?”

Sanyam looks up for a moment, gives a deep sigh before finally meeting Kala's guarded brown eyes. He takes her hand, devoid of her engagement ring and wedding band, turns it palm up and then back around.

“Kala,” he says carefully, “you know how much we love you. That we will always support you.” He smiles a little, recalling several unconventional decisions. "Even if we don't fully understand, we've always trusted you to know your mind."

Kala gives a nervous exhale. “But,” she prompts.

“But,” he concedes on a sigh, “are you sure about this? That you want to go through with this divorce? All for this man you do not really know?”

Kala's eyes widen in surprise. She grips her father's hand and shakes it a little. “Dad. I told you.”

He nods impatiently, dismissively: “Yes, yes. I know. Your Cluster. Your connection. Your bond with Wolfgang. But you've only _just_ met him.” Sanyam gives a small huff of frustration, but Kala can tell it isn't directed at her, but at himself as he struggles to find the right words. “Kala. This decision is so final. Are you sure you want to give up your marriage so hastily? That you won't regret doing so in another year, when things have calmed down?"

Kala’s hand stills in her father's. She pulls it away, burned. “Hastily?" she repeats, stung by Sanyam's words. “How can you ask me that when you know I _always_ think things through? You know I do nothing 'hastily'." She looks back at him, hurt. "You, of all people."

Sanyam shakes his head and sighs, shoulders falling forward. “I just want to make sure you know your mind; that you will be happy. We know Rajan loves you still, and your mother and I worry… What if you're confusing your mental bond with that man for love?”

Kala gets up, paces. In many ways, she knew this conversation was coming: Her parents had been too quiet, too shocked by the revelation of everything all at once. They asked some things about BPO: information that made the news, her involvement, her Cluster’s involvement; general information about her Cluster. Except Wolfgang.

When it came to Wolfgang and Rajan and the divorce, they left those topics alone: deliberately said nothing in the days and weeks since being told. Except now, with Wolfgang arriving, it must seem more real to them than anything she's yet said.

Kala is careful not to let her agitation bleed into the collective consciousness of the Cluster: Wolfgang is already concerned about meeting her family. If she weren't so upset herself she could find the humor in this, somewhere.

Kala takes a breath, sits back down next to her father, eyes meeting his. "Dad," she says, pausing. "Do you remember why you thought I may have doubts about marrying Rajan?"

He nods his head. "Yes."

"Why?" she asks. "Tell me."

Sanyam thinks back, frowns. "You seemed anxious," he says. "Nervous, and at first I thought it was because of Rajan's father." Sanyam broods over this, recalling his indignation at slights - real or perceived - that he'd noted, even if Kala had not. He shakes his head. "You seemed content to spend time with Rajan chaperoned by Aunty or with the family, not asking for time alone unless Rajan asked. I admit that seemed odd to me, but..." He shrugs, finally sighs: "But what convinced me were your eyes."

"My eyes?" Kala repeats, surprised. 

"Yes." He smiles at her, takes back her hand. "A father knows when his child is only trying to please him. When her joy appears only when she sees it in you." He sighs."You never seemed truly excited. And sometimes, when I would catch you by yourself, sitting with your work in the drawing room. You looked... So lost. I could tell when you looked at me..." He drifts in thought, mouth pressed tightly together.

Kala watches him softly, asks in a quiet voice: "Is that how I am now, when I wait for Wolfgang?"

He stills, caught. He says nothing for several seconds.

"No," he admits, but he doesn't elaborate. Instead, he squeezes her hand, eyes still full of concern.

She returns the gentle squeeze and smiles at him. "Please give him a chance," she says. "I've never been more certain of anything. I love him very much."

Sanyam looks into her eyes- confident, assured - and sighs, unable to withstand her. 

"I hope this Wolfgang is worthy of you," he mumbles as she gives him a quick hug. 

But he worries nonetheless that the divorce is a mistake.

 

 


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfgang arrives in Mumbai and meets Kala's father.  
> The Cluster try to help.

Sanyam Dandekar is not a big man.

He stands beside a large potted plant, facing Kala, listening to her talk animatedly. His expression is serious, but his face is kind. He flashes a quick smile at something Kala says.

Sanyam is a few inches shorter than Wolfgang, heavier set, but not overly so; sixty-something. He is dressed in a loose, short-sleeved shirt, linen trousers, comfortable sandals. He is not physically imposing. 

But Sanyam's presence looms large.

Wolfgang takes a steadying breath. 

“Are you good, _Mano_?” asks Lito, suddenly beside him, jerking his chin in the direction of Kala and her father. “You got this?”

Lito is in Los Angeles at a publicity party with Hernando and Dani, enthralling reporters and actors alike. He had offered to share his charm (as he'd humbly phrased it) as soon as he'd learned of the trip to Mumbai.

“You have that brooding, kind of scary look that would frankly worry me, if I was Kala's father,” he'd said, as if Wolfgang wasn't already concerned being seen as the man responsible for Kala's divorce. Wolfgang merely glowered.

But now, Lito is back, ready to turn the full force of his personality on an unsuspecting Sanyam, and Wolfgang finds himself tempted. Lito paces a little beside him, sizing up Kala's father with the practiced eye of a professional.

Wolfgang shakes off whatever nervousness he feels. He can't pretend to be someone he's not forever.

“I'm good,” he says. One hand tightens around the handle of the rolling suitcase, the other clenches the strap of the duffle slung over his shoulder. He walks toward Kala and Sanyam. “Thanks anyway.” He stares ahead, focuses on Kala, her back turned to him as she talks to her father.

“Okkkk,” Lito says doubtfully, shaking his head as he strides besides Wolfgang. “I'll be around if you need me,” he adds, returning his full attention to the party in LA.

But Wolfgang doesn't notice: The sudden, vibrant bolt of awareness that shoots through his body the closer he gets to Kala shoots through her at the same time. Kala turns her head, eyes lock with his, and everything around them recedes, falls away: There's only each other.

Wolfgang doesn't recall afterward ever consciously moving forward until he stands in front of her, brows drawn tightly together, heart hammering in his chest. He doesn't recall freeing his hands so they can cup her face, scrutinize her features as if it has been years and not weeks that they've been physically apart.

Kala stares back, as soft and radiant as he is ferocious, glowing with a look saved only for him.

“Wolfgang.” She smiles, bright and warm, her hands covering his. The sound of his name on her lips brings a surge of relief and fierce, defiant joy.

He pulls her to him in a crushing embrace that has Kala laughing and crying as she buries her face in his neck, arms sliding down to circle his waist and hold him just as tightly as he holds her.

And suddenly Wolfgang feels _light:_  BPO is done. He is alive, he is in Mumbai, and Kala, despite their separation and surrounded by her family, still chooses _him._

Wolfgang gives a low chuckle, murmurs nonsense in German, grins mischievously into her hair.

Kala's voice echoes, laughing and breathless, in their shared conscience the moment she realizes what he's up to: “ _Wolfgang._ ” Through their connection, his hands roam her body, lips sink into her neck. She gasps, tilts her head, her own hands travel greedily over the breadth of his muscular back.

“ _God,_  I've missed you,” he murmurs, face flush, drunk from the feel of her physical presence.

A delicate cough interrupts the chaste embrace of real life. Sanyam is beside them, suspicious of their eerie stillness. 

Kala blushes deeply, draws a little away, but she keeps an arm around Wolfgang's waist, and he's surprised that she doesn't play down their relationship, as Wolfgang had been sure she would. He curls his arm around her gratefully. Sanyam's eyes catch the small gesture.

“Dad,” Kala says, breathless, lips curve into a giddy smile, “this is Wolfgang.”

Wolfgang extends his right hand, his expression guarded. “Hello.” There is a breath of hesitation before Sanyam accepts the handshake, his grip firm.

“Kala tells me a lot about you,” says Sanyam quietly, in English. His eyes are curious, wary, but not unfriendly. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”

Wolfgang nods slowly, aware there's much to talk about. “I'm sure there's a lot you want to know,” he answers in Hindi. “But I'm glad to finally meet you, too.”

Sanyam looks momentarily startled before he shakes his head, sighs."I forget you can speak Hindi,” he says, reverting to Hindi as well. He gives a little smile, amused: “Well, that is both convenient and a little unlucky for all of us.” Sanyam absently bends to pick up the handle of the suitcase that Wolfgang dropped; Wolfgang quickly takes it back with a muttered “thank you”, releasing Kala to pick up the duffle bag he'd also dropped.

“Let me take the suitcase.” Kala reaches for the handle so she can slide her free hand into Wolfgang's again. She smiles at him as they leave the airport, make their way to Sanyam’s car. “We thought to take you to your hotel, and then maybe eat lunch at the house.” She looks at him apologetically. “My mother and sister want to meet you. Mom says she prepared some special kheer.”

For the second time since arriving, Wolfgang tamps down a feeling of alarm: lunch with Kala's entire family. He didn't think he'd meet them all quite so soon. “Sure, thanks,” he says, off-balance, distracted; all he really wants is a few minutes alone with Kala. 

She steals a glance at him, gives a soft smile, sensing some of the anxiety he hides. “I'll make it up to you,” she whispers in German. He lifts an eyebrow in interest, not bothering to disguise the sudden possibilities that leap immediately to his mind. Kala feels her face flame and beams at him.

They make small talk with Sanyam the rest of the way to the car and for part of the 35 minute ride from the airport to Wolfgang's hotel. It's not as awkward as Wolfgang thought: it's easy enough to discuss how his flight was, the difference in weather, and his first impression of the city as Sanyam drives his new car cautiously through traffic. They avoid any real conversation, the unspoken agreement being they will save any such discussion for later, when Kala's mother and sister are present, as well.

Wolfgang watches out the window from the back seat, Kala up front, directing her father how best to get to the hotel although the GPS gives them other instructions. Wolfgang is silent, tries not to think too much about the unexpected lunch. He reminds himself it doesn't really matter: Kala loves him as much as he loves her. He no longer doubts the rationality of it. But this would be so much easier if he didn't give a fuck. So much easier if he didn't know how important Kala's family is to her.

Sanyam's satisfied exclamation interrupts his thoughts: “There it is.”

Wolfgang stares out of the window and frowns.

“What?” demands Nomi, in pajamas and a messy ponytail, leaning across him to stare out of the same window. She gives a little gasp and smiles widely at the impressive metal and glass structure that is clearly well above everyone's pay grade. “It's _beautiful_! Looks just like the pics on the net: I bet your room is gonna be _amazing._ Plus there's a full gym with the latest equipment and even boxing stuff. And an _infinity pool_.”

Wolfgang scoffs. Nomi had booked his first class flight and handled accommodations, all from “re-appropriated” funds from BPO. He's grateful she does these things for the Cluster: deliberately (and very illegally) redistributing found-funds hidden by BPO. But the hotel is not anything he would have ever chosen for himself. It looks to cater to the the kind of high-end clientele that remind him of Uncle Sergei and his aunt and the pompous Kings of Berlin, full of their own sense of self importance. It reminds him of Rajan. The idea of staying here makes his skin itch.

“You don't have to stay here; you can find something else later,” says Kala, aware of why he reacts so poorly. “Wolfgang hates these huge, fancy places,” she says to Nomi, “but I think it's beautiful.”

“It's very beautiful,” agrees Sanyam, unaware of his visitor. “You like simpler places, Wolfgang?”

“I prefer them,” he answers.

Sanyam gives a puzzled frown that he directs at Kala. “Then why...” he begins.

“One of our cluster picked the hotel,” Kala says, in explanation. Sanyam's eyebrows rise but he says nothing.

“See if you don't just love it here after a couple of nights,” Nomi says with a sigh. “It has every amenity you can think of and it got rave reviews.” She side-eyes Kala - who mouths an apologetic “thank you” - before making her escape. Wolfgang's displeasure is almost palpable, but he keeps it to himself and says nothing more.

Sanyam pulls the car up to the entrance and shoos away the valet that steps up to park the car.

“Why don't you go with Wolfgang, Kala, and I'll come back around when you're ready,” he tells her as she gets out, her door held open by a porter. “I need to make a call anyway.” He taps at the Bluetooth light on the dashboard of his car and shrugs. Kala looks at him disapprovingly before turning her attention to the porter who'd held her door open.

Wolfgang lets himself out and watches as Kala directs the porter to take the suitcase and duffel bag out of the trunk.

She looks in her element: A year of being Kala Rasal makes her comfortable in the kind of monied setting he's always hated, and Wolfgang feels a sudden sting of insecurity. He catches Sanyam stare thoughtfully at Kala from the mirror. Wolfgang guesses that Kala's father isn't much for such opulence either.

Luggage removed and trunk closed, Sanyam drives away. Kala smiles back at Wolfgang and reaches tentative fingers for his. He takes her hand and they walk into the white-marbled magnificence of the lobby. It's as he expects but he resigns himself and shakes off his ill humor: He pictures Felix’s excited reaction and smirks.

The porter leads them to a small queue of guests waiting to check in while he brings their bags up front. The guests speak in rapid English and Hindi and Arabic, dressed in designer clothes, sun glasses perched on perfectly coiffed heads. Wolfgang sighs as he gets in line, throws an arm around Kala’s waist, and draws her closer.

“Well your father didn't reject me right away,” he says in German. "That is a first,” he observes. " _And_ he is leaving us alone for a few minutes."

“Oh, I think he likes you,” Kala says, reverting to German as well. “Or at least trusts that you can't ravish me in public, in a queue, in the time it takes to check in.” She smiles mischievously up at him, and he can't help but smile back.

“He underestimates me,” Wolfgang says, pulling her flush against his body. He wraps his arms around her and Kala laughs, tilts her face up for his quick kiss before she pulls back.

“He obviously does,” she agrees. “But if you don't mind...” Kala drops her eyes to his collar, smooths his shirt across his chest with lingering hands before she looks back up at him almost sheepishly. “Could you please not visit me the way you did at the airport?" She pushes against his chest at the amusement in his face, indignant. “Don't you laugh! It was so _wrong_! In front of my _father_!” She shakes her head, tuts in concern. "Even if he couldn't see us, I think he _knew_."

Wolfgang chuckles, moves a few more steps up the line without releasing her. “If you don't want me to, I won't do it again, _Süße,"_  he promises. His voice drops a little: “But I've missed you, and it's been so long.” The way he looks at her makes Kala’s mouth go dry and her breath flutter.

“I don't want to play games until we have a chance to be alone,” she says softly, dreamily, hands splaying across his chest. “I want to feel you in real life. It _has_ been too long.”

His breath hitches, eyes fasten on the tongue that she runs across dry lips. He ignores the interested throb in his jeans and instead gives a deep, regretful sigh, moving Kala a little away from him as they move forward again. “ _Scheiße_ ,” he murmurs, the laughter back in his voice. “How is it you can make me crazy with just simple words?”

Kala smiles back at him, rests her head against his shoulder one final time before moving out of his embrace and simply holding his hand.

It's not much longer before Wolfgang finally checks in, hands the second card key to Kala, and retrieves his bags to bring up to his room by himself. He moves in the direction of the elevators when he feels Kala hang back.

“I'm staying down here,” she says primly.

He ticks an eyebrow at her, disbelieving. “Really?”

“Yes,” she says, unflappable. “Wolfgang, my father is waiting to get us. And I know what will happen if I go up with you.”

He squints at her, offended: “The _fuck._ Do you think I’m some kid who can't control himself?”

Kala shakes her head, mouth quirking up at the corners. “No,” she says. “I think you're a kid who can't resist trying to get me into trouble.”

He stares hard for a moment, takes the three steps necessary to stand in front of her, and then flashes a dimpled grin. “Maybe,” he admits with a hint of laughter in his voice. He brushes an errant curl away from her cheek, tucks it behind her ear, and Kala smiles back, eyes full of affection.

Wolfgang cants toward her and his smile softens. “Come see the room with me,” he murmurs, voice dropping, eyes hooded.

Kala’s brows arch. “See?” she says accusingly. “Go,” she tells him, nodding in the direction of the elevators. “I'll tell Dad to come back. I'll meet you right here.”

He chuckles and steals a kiss before heading to the elevators alone.

“You _must_ remember to stay respectful.”

Wolfgang stares straight ahead. The elevator is empty, except for him and Lito.

“I didn't ask for your help.” Wolfgang’s tone is the same politely reserved voice he uses with Felix when Felix suggests something stupid but Wolfgang doesn't want to tell him so immediately.

“Maybe, but I'm giving it.” Lito drinks his third mule and waves the copper cup in Wolfgang's direction. “This is very important. You're going to have lunch with her entire family.”

“And you only get to make one first impression.”

Wolfgang's attention pivots irritably to the other side of him, where Will stands in full uniform because he's on night shift with Diego. “Dude, it's _true,_ ” Will says defensively. “You know her dad is the easy-going one, and he's trying really hard to understand -” Will sputters to a stop, suddenly realizing where he is going with that thought.

“I won't fuck this up,” mumbles Wolfgang. The elevator mercifully chimes and opens its doors to the 26th floor. He steps out, luggage in tow, and follows the signs directing him to his suite number.

“I'm just saying this is a very, very delicate situation,” continues Lito, following down the impressively carpeted hallway. “I mean, her parents are very traditional. _Very_ traditional. I know _exactly_ what that's like. You will need to charm her mother, but not overstep. There's a fine line.”

“But I think her dad isn't completely opposed to you.” Will glares meaningfully at Lito, who looks back blankly, impervious to the negative feelings his ramblings seem to create.

“Why are you both here?” Wolfgang asks, annoyed. “Why is everyone hovering over me?” He swipes his key card and lets himself in, the room brightly lit by the natural light coming from the large windows overlooking the Arabian Sea. He pauses, impressed despite himself.

“Because your mind is going at a mile a minute,  and it's very-”

“Distracting.” Sun finishes Will's sentence, walks to the air conditioning vent to cool herself. She has been with her trainer since 7 am, spending her day at lessons, partially to escape the relentless paparazzi that follow her every move since the sensational downfall of her brother. "It's ironic how much energy you spend hiding how you feel from Kala when you're so consumed by the idea of meeting her family.” Sun looks appreciatively around the hotel room. “Nice,” she comments.

“Thank you!” Nomi stands by the window, smiles out at the magnificent view. “This is even prettier than I thought it would be!” she says. “Kala is going to love it here.”

Wolfgang places his suitcase beside the dresser, his duffle bag on top of the bed, and finally turns to confront his Cluster scattered throughout the room. Even Capheus, dressed nicer than usual, is there, admiring the view next to Sun.

“You too?” Wolfgang demands.

Capheus shakes his head, gives an embarrassed smile. “I've got a television interview. I'm nervous too,” he admits. “But everyone is _here._ Except.” Capheus tilts a curious look at Will. “Riley?”

“She's asleep.” Will shrugs. “It's, like, two in the morning.”

Wolfgang gives a disgusted grunt. “I'm not nervous,” he says. “You all can leave me alone.”

“You know how this works.” Sun levels a challenging look at Wolfgang. “We wouldn't be here if you didn't need us.”

“I don't need you.” Wolfgang tries to stare her down, but Sun narrows her gaze. “I don't need you,” he repeats, temper fraying. “And if you don't mind, I need to take a piss.”

“Could you change into something a little less black?” Lito opens the duffle, frowns at the monochromatic clothes. “ _Joder_. Don't you have anything lighter?”

Wolfgang ignores him, wanders into the bathroom, shuts the door as if that will keep the Cluster out. He stares vacantly ahead for a moment and takes a deep breath. In the back of his mind he can feel them receding to wherever they came from, maybe not for the rest of day, but for the time being.

He refuses to concede to the churning anxiety that brought them there in the first place. 

He uses the bathroom, washes his hands and his face. He combs wet fingers through his hair, dries himself off with the plush hotel towel. By the time he's through, the Cluster is gone.

Wolfgang wanders to the duffel on the bed, fingers glide to the pale blue, short-sleeve shirt that somehow found its way to the top of the bag. He stares at it for several seconds before giving a frustrated grunt.

Wolfgang unbuttons his black shirt. He changes into the the short sleeve before he can change his mind and leaves his room. He heads back down to the hotel lobby, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates from this point might get sporadic; this was it for my pre-written chapters :-)  
> Hang in there, though!  
> And thank you for reading<3


	3. Lunch

Kala sits in the lobby, looks around idly at the people walking about. She texts her father that Wolfgang is finally checked in but putting his bags away first. She waits a full minute or two before her father replies with “ok”. Kala suspects he's on another call with the event planner and frowns. She texts him to come back to the hotel and waits another minute before he responds with another “ok”.

Kala sighs. She should have gone up to Wolfgang's room.

She smiles to herself, her earlier excitement bubbling back to the surface. She can hardly believe he's really here, in her city. Safe.

She permits herself to daydream a little, remember how it felt to be in his arms again at the airport. She has no words to describe it, cocooned in Wolfgang's embrace, feeling the sheer joy of their reunion vibrate between them through the psycellium. It was so intense, so overwhelming, she could feel tears. It was perfect.

Except.

She looks over her shoulder at the bank of elevators where Wolfgang had gone, wonders why he's suddenly so uneasy about meeting her family. He's never cared what they thought of him before. If he did, it was only because she was afraid of hurting them, of hurting Rajan. But now, Kala can feel a worry in him, faint but persistent.

She sits back in the chair and catches her bottom lip, wonders if he is in his room yet, if she should visit, just to make sure he's okay.

“Don't go up there right now.”

Kala turns to face Riley, sleepy-eyed and wearing Will's old t-shirt.

“Why? What is going on?” Kala frowns. She tentatively tries to reach Wolfgang but is surprised to feel a faint resistance. They do not visit when they feel each other's need for privacy; they'd established that rule while Wolfgang was recovering.

“Wolfgang is a bit nervous. Will is talking to him, trying to put him at ease.” Riley gives a yawn, draws her legs up in the leather seat beside Kala. “So is everyone else, I think. It feels... _urgent_ , but Will says I don't need to go; it's not that kind of emergency.”

“What?” Kala stares back in surprise. She had been feeling Wolfgang's worry this entire time; it had bled through to her as just a little anxiety. “Oh God. _Everyone_ ? But why?” Kala gets up, moves uncertainly toward the elevators. “I didn't think he'd feel this is a big deal. He's never said he cares what they think. Wolfgang doesn't care what _anyone_ thinks of him.”

Riley turns in the chair, chin resting on the back, watching Kala pace. She tilts her head, smiles gently. “And you mean everything to him,” she says. “He knows how much your family means to you. He cares very much what they think.”

Kala's breath catches. She knows this. Of course she does. How could she let herself believe otherwise?

“I need to see him,” she says, guilty that she agreed to her mother's insistence. She already knew Wolfgang was concerned about meeting her father. She should have given Wolfgang more time to adjust before throwing in her mother and sister, too. She shouldn't have been so flippant or insensitive. What kind of girlfriend is she?

The chime from the elevator startles her enough that she breaks her connection to Riley. She walks toward it and watches as two people get out, hands held together. No Wolfgang.

Her phone buzzes a text from her father at the same time that a second elevator chimes.

_On my way right now. 10 minutes. Traffic._

She blinks owlishly at her phone.

“Hey.”

She looks up into Wolfgang's concerned face, the deep blue of his eyes, and in a heartbeat she reaches a hand around his neck and draws his head down for a kiss.

His surprise evaporates the moment their lips meet, open and greedy, in vast contrast to their earlier kisses. Kala presses against him, heart hammers wildly in her chest as what she intended to be a quick but intimate kiss blazes out of control. Six weeks of physical separation, six weeks of making do with visiting: The shock of their connection in real life inevitably intensifies their need for each other.

They kiss frantically, sloppily, tongues twining, starved for each other, unmindful of anything else. They fail to hear an elevator open, the startled sounds from the people exiting, the embarrassed mumbling of people entering. They slow down only when Kala bumps her head against a wall, their bodies having somehow moved to block one of the four call buttons between the elevators.

“Ouch.” Kala gives a little laugh, buries her face in Wolfgang's neck, his pulse throbs hard against her bottom lip. Her breath is ragged, her heart pounds in equal time with Wolfgang's.

“I told you you should have gone up with me,” he murmurs, stroking her hair with one hand while his other has a firm grip on her bottom.

“Oh, I should have,” she sighs, nuzzling just beneath his jaw, breathing him in, her entire body pliant and humming with need. “I should have. Why didn't you talk me into doing it?”

He kisses the top of her head, cants her hips to grind a little against her. “I can still do that,” he says, a hint of amusement in a voice otherwise raspy with desire. “How much time do we have?”

“I don't know,” she says, lazing along his ear. “Dad is caught in traffic.” Wolfgang gives a sharp exhale of interest, coasts his hand up along her hips.

Kala's phone, pressed against his chest by her hand, buzzes mercilessly in reply. They stare at each other, silent, before Wolfgang touches his forehead to hers with a heavy sigh.

Kala catches her lip, answers her father's call and gives a trembling “ok” to whatever he says before she pushes the “end” button: “Dad's outside right now.” Her face is flush, heated; she looks mournfully at Wolfgang. “I'm so sorry.”

He takes a deep breath but hugs her reassuringly. “Don't be.” They stay like this for several quiet seconds before he kisses her head, hugs her again as they draw away from each other. Wolfgang smiles gently at Kala, and she smiles back, her eyes suddenly widening at something she hadn't noticed before.

“You're wearing _blue_!”

Wolfgang’s mouth ticks up at the corner in a self-conscious smirk. “Yeah,” he agrees, putting an arm around her waist as they walk away from the elevators.

“You look…” Kala notices how the shirt draws out a more vibrant color from his eyes, how his gaze softens as he looks at her, and her breath catches. “You look _hot_.”

Wolfgang laughs outright, his grin flashing, making her weak-kneed.

They walk in slow unison through the lobby, bodies close, letting the pace slow their still- hammering pulses. Kala steals a glance at Wolfgang, notes the smile fade to a slight tension.

They approach the doors when Kala stops abruptly, glances up at him. “I’m so sorry I dragged you to lunch with my family,” she says. She gives a huff, draws his arm from her waist to tangle fingers again. “I didn't think you would care much. I mean, I know you care, but-” She shrugs, shakes her head. “I should have asked you first. I should have suggested some other time. I wasn't being very considerate.”

Wolfgang watches her with a slight frown. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

“I knew you weren't completely comfortable meeting my father today. I knew it,” she says, sniffing, suddenly ashamed. “But I didn't think to ask you if it's ok. Or to push back because it's not fair to you. I just automatically did what they want. I just said yes to my parents without asking you. I'm so sorry.”

“Kala.” He tilts her face up, cups her cheek gently. “If it's important to you, it's important to me. I need to meet them sometime anyway, right?” He looks back at her with a serious expression; she nods gratefully. “But it's lunch with your family,” he says with a shrug. “No big deal.”

She nods again. “No big deal,” she agrees. She gives a steadying breath, grateful for his cool demeanor. Whatever unease he'd felt seems gone. “They'll love you,” she tells him, more sure of herself.

...

Sanyam leads them through the entry, past the parlor, to the dining room. The table already displays colorful bowls of chillies and chutneys and plates of roti. “Priya,” he announces. “We're here.”

Kala stares in surprise at the amount of food she expects will be served when she notices the plates laid carefully on the table. Her grip flexes involuntarily in Wolfgang's hand, and he throws her a curious look. She frowns back. The table is formally set for six: Aunty Ina is joining them for lunch.

“We're coming!” her mother calls out from the other side of the kitchen. “Sit down, sit down!’

Kala gives a tense exhale and catches her father's look. He notices the table, too. “Go ahead and sit,” he tells her and Wolfgang. “I'll go help your mother.”

Kala nods as Wolfgang pulls out the nearest chair for her to sit on. He takes the seat beside her.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, wariness creeping into his voice.

“Aunty Ina is here.” Kala can think of no good way to state the unpleasant. “There is a good chance she may be _extremely_ rude.” Aunty blames Wolfgang for destroying Kala's marriage. “In fact, in all probability, she _will_ be rude.” Aunty thinks Kala throws away a dream life for nothing. “Please try not to let her upset you.”

Wolfgang’s eyes narrow, head tilts a little to overhear what goes on in the kitchen, but the words are too muffled and obscured by clinking plates and running water. “Why are you so worried?” he asks. “She's just your aunt.”

Kala shakes her head. “I don't know,” she admits. “It’s just that Aunty can be blunt and unpredictable and I don't want you to be angry or offended.”

He frowns, a muscle ticks his jaw.  But he gives a light shrug, side-eyes her as Daya comes out of the kitchen: “I won't start anything,” he smirks. Kala looks back at him uncertainly and he shakes his head. “Promise,” he tells her.

Daya sets a large bowl of rice on the table before she reaches to shake Wolfgang's hand. “Hello!” Her eyes are wide and a little surprised, but her voice is sincere as she introduces herself in English: “I'm Kala's sister, Daya. It is so good to finally meet you.”

“Hello.” Wolfgang smiles at her, amused that she is not in the least shy. “Wolfgang.”

“You're sitting here?” Daya pulls the chair on the other side of Wolfgang to sit down beside him when Priya calls for her.

Daya gives a little militant sigh, but she whispers to her sister in Hindi as she walks by: “Kala, he is _so_ good looking. His _eyes_!” Kala exchanges a mortified look with Wolfgang, whose smile merely deepens, easing the tension around his face.

Sanyam passes Daya as he carries bowls of aloo gobi and a chicken curry. Behind him is Priya with lamb and Aunty with freshly made eggplant and cauliflower pakora; the three arrange the dishes on the table as Kala makes stilted introductions and hands are shaken politely. Aunty stares at Wolfgang with cool reserve; Priya looks determined.

Daya returns with a pitcher of ice water and takes her seat beside Wolfgang as everyone else settles in.

The meal starts off uneventfully.

Priya asks Wolfgang many of the same questions Sanyam had: how his flight was, his impression of Mumbai; questions meant to put him at his ease. Wolfgang answers with something more than his usual brevity, but he is not by nature a talkative man, and Kala resists the urge to fill in the gaps that are not uncomfortable, but different from the continuous flow of conversation that was common with Rajan. In the back of her head, she can feel her Cluster, defensive, anxious: ready to step in for Wolfgang if he needs help, and Kala feels her heart swell with love and appreciation for all of them. She glances at Wolfgang and he smiles gently back at her.

They manage to get through most of lunch amiably when Aunty says in Hindi, to no one in particular: “This is ridiculous. Why are we being so polite?”

Priya stares cooly back. “Ina,” she says warningly.

“What does he do for a living? How is he going to support her? Is he even going to marry your daughter?” Ina takes a sip of water and wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Honestly. These are all valid questions we want to know the answers to.”

“Ina.” Sanyam gives a deep sigh. “I asked you not to say anything. Not now.”

Ina scoffs, takes another sip of her water.

“You can ask me.” Wolfgang puts his fork down, leans back against his seat. “Ask me what you want to know.”

Daya’s eyes grow wide with mortification; Aunty sputters her water inelegantly back into her glass. Wolfgang's Hindi is perfect. Of course.

Kala finds herself gripping Wolfgang's hand under the table, on his leg. While she had explained her sensate connection to her parents and to Daya, Aunty had not known of it. Daya must have simply forgotten what that means.

“Sanyam!” Aunty Ina glares at Kala's father accusingly. “Why didn't you tell me he speaks Hindi?”

“I thought it was sufficient to ask you not to be rude,” he says peevishly. “He is still our guest.”

“You should have said something,” Aunty complains.

There is a brief, awkward silence at the statement.

“Aunty-” says Kala.

But her mother cuts her off, spoon landing loudly on her plate: “Wolfgang,” says Priya carefully. “My sister is blunt. But…”

“Mom.” Kala looks at her mother, surprised.

“She asks what we want to know.” Priya turns her worried gaze from Wolfgang to Kala and to Sanyam, whose mouth sets into a displeased line but doesn't interrupt. “You understand that this whole thing -” She pauses, glances at Aunty who knows nothing of sensates. “Well. Everything has been a shock. When Rajan came back, we were not expecting to hear he and Kala agreed to divorce. And then Kala came back. And we learned about you.” Priya gives a helpless gesture. “She hasn't said much about you. Just... I am sure you've suffered so much. But, we want to make sure Kala truly knows her mind.”

“Will you be staying in Mumbai permanently? Or are you going back to Berlin?” Aunty Ina frowns at Wolfgang, sets aside her plate as if she's done with pleasantries.

Wolfgang shrugs. “I'll stay in Mumbai as long as Kala needs me,” he says, turning to her. “As long as she wants me here.”

Kala lets out an exhale, meets Wolfgang's look with growing uncertainty. She had missed him so much, had felt bereft without his presence. But it is unfair of her to make him stay indefinitely, and Aunty's question reminds her it is selfish to ask him to do so when he has much to resolve in Berlin.

“You can do that?” Aunty Ina asks in surprise. “You can stay in Mumbai for so long as you want? What is it you do for a living, Wolfgang?”

Kala's eyes widen. Wolfgang bobs his head a little, meets Aunty's gaze. “I run a small business with my best friend,” he says.

“Oh you do?” asks Priya hopefully. “What kind of business?”

“A locksmith shop,” he says.

Daya makes a little choking sound. There is an awkward silence that follows this revelation.

“Like with keys?” asks Aunty Ina slowly. She looks at her sister with wide eyes, then at Kala. “Well. I guess you can make a good enough living at that,” she says, implying by her tone that she doesn't believe any such thing.

“Yes,” agrees Wolfgang. His grip on Kala's hand grows slack. She can hear Sun through their connection, ordering Wolfgang to breathe, to relax.

“I think that is enough questioning for now.” Sanyam looks sternly at Aunty Ina. “Wolfgang didn't come for lunch expecting to be rudely interrogated. He's just arrived. I'm sure he's tired.”

“That's ok.” Wolfgang smiles faintly. “I knew there would be questions.”

“But maybe not just now,” says Kala. There is a martial look in her eyes as she directs the comment to Aunty Ina; it is a defiant glare that does not escape her aunt, who stares back in amazement.

Sanyam pauses as if he reconsiders what he is about to say. Instead, he shakes his head. “Not right now,” he agrees. “There is time enough if Wolfgang is staying for a few days, correct?”

“Yes.” Wolfgang nods.

“Good.” Sanyam looks at everyone at the table before resting his gaze on Wolfgang. “Kala's mother made some special kheer. No one makes better kheer than she.” Sanyam smiles softly at Priya. “Would you like to try some, Wolfgang?”

Wolfgang nods. “I would, thank you.”

“I'll bring it out, then,” Sanyam announces. “Ina, would you care to help me?”

Aunty frowns slightly but gets up to help Sanyam in the kitchen.

When they return with the bowls of kheer garnished with slivers of almonds, conversation resumes a polite but superficial tone. Aunty’s brows raise when Wolfgang mentions the hotel where he is staying, but she says nothing more for the rest of the meal, only watches him thoughtfully and looks at Kala with a slightly hurt expression.

Kala tries not to let it make her feel guilty. She is upset with her aunt, although she knows that Aunty Ina could have been much worse.

After dessert is finished and a lull falls on the conversation, Sanyam offers to drive Wolfgang back to the hotel.

“I'll do it,” says Kala, ignoring the looks from her mother and aunt. She smiles a little in amusement. “Don't think I haven't noticed that your phone has gone off three times while you ate, Dad.”

Sanyam gives a dramatic sigh and shakes his head. “That is true,” he agrees. Kala had driven to her parents’ place to get her father, but he had insisted on driving them both in his new car. Sanyam gives a slight shrug. “I'll be seeing you soon, then, _Beti_ ,” he says, getting up from the table as Kala and Wolfgang do so as well.

“Maybe Daya should go with you,” suggests Aunty Ina.

“No need.” Kala smiles sweetly at her aunt. “I can manage on my own.”

Wolfgang thanks everyone for lunch, Kala says goodbye to her parents, and 10 minutes later, they are in her car, driving back to the hotel.

Wolfgang is quiet. His head is turned; he watches the scenery while Kala concentrates on driving. She can't feel his emotions clearly; he remains guarded.

“That was a little difficult, but not bad at all,” she says encouragingly. She glances at Wolfgang, but he makes no move. “Mom and Dad seem to like you,” she continues. “And Daya thinks you are _so_ good looking.” Kala steals another glance at him as she imitates her sister's tone. Wolfgang doesn't respond.

Kala lets the silence drag on for just a few more minutes before she lets her worry overtake her. “Wolfgang?” she asks quietly. “Wolfgang? Are you alright?”

He turns to her then, his expression thoughtful, his eyes accented by the blue of his shirt. “I was just thinking,” he says, “how you would make this up to me.”

Kala's breath hitches in her throat. Her cheeks flame. “You are a wicked man, Wolfgang Bogdanow,” she murmurs, heart suddenly pounding in her chest.

He chuckles and smiles the rest of the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience!  
> I know the Special is gonna drop before the next update, but I'm just going to keep going with this despite inconsistencies.
> 
> Also. There may be smut in the next chapter. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Connecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really smutty. Mostly fluff. Because I think we need it.

Kala takes a different route back to the hotel and drives past places Wolfgang has only seen through her: the temple where she worships, the markets where she shops. He glances at these places with some interest. Sometimes, she points to landmarks and favorite street vendors. She maneuvers her way between buses and scooters and darting pedestrians with expert precision.

Wolfgang sits in the passenger seat, impressed, an arm slung casually over Kala's head rest. His eyes drift toward her more than the things she tries to bring to his attention, lazing over her delicate throat, soft bare shoulder. He realizes she’s grown quiet when she lets out a shaky: “Don't.”

He blinks at her, surprised. “Don't what?” he asks.

Kala presses her lips together, looks ahead at the road. “Don't look at me like that while I'm driving.”

“Like what?”

She makes a noise of disbelief. “Like you're going to eat me.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirks as she blushes harder. “Oh my God, Wolfgang, you know what I mean.”

He chuckles and she gives a huff of indignation that causes him to laugh outright, shake his head at his own sophomoric humor. Kala glances at him, irked but thawed by the sound of his laughter, and her lips tug up into an involuntary smile. “You're a wicked man,” she repeats, but her tone is soft, affectionate.

Wolfgang grins at her, but says nothing more as he obligingly turns his gaze to the window and the streets of Mumbai.

He smiles to himself before his thoughts drift again: this time, to her family and to lunch, and the fact that he's only managed to put off the interrogation for another time.

At least now he has an idea what to expect.

He tries not to dwell on Aunty Ina's shocked expression, the worried look from Kala's mother, the carefully reserved face of Kala's father. Wolfgang tries to imagine what they'd do if they knew everything about him, but gives up guessing: It doesn't matter. It only matters that Kala knows, and she still wants him. Maybe even as much as he wants her.

Wolfgang's mouth twists wryly at where his thoughts lead him. Felix had asked him curiously if it's because of the “freaky mind sex”, but really, it never was. Wolfgang had wanted her before they had even kissed.

He can point to the exact moment when he knew Kala was different; when he knew she could mean more to him than anyone else in his life, maybe even more than Felix, and not just in the obvious way.

 _Thank God for gravity_ , he'd said, drawn to her earnestness, her intelligence: a force impossible for him to resist.

So really, this _thing_ between them is not about the sex. It was _never_ about just the sex.

He pauses, mid-thought.

But _f u c k_.

 _The sex_.

Wolfgang blinks back against a sudden, visceral surge of lust. He steals another glance at Kala and knows she feels it too: The sudden soft exhale, the return of a tell-tale flush to her neck and up to her cheeks.

Her hair is conveniently piled in a messy bun she'd hastily pinned just before getting into the car. His hand slides from her headrest to find her bare neck; caress the nape, thumb the cleft at the top. Kala gives a soft, surprised gasp. She catches her lower lip with her teeth, a gesture he associates with her concentrating. He smiles gently and stops teasing; his hand returns to the back of the headrest. It takes Kala a few minutes to visibly relax. It takes Wolfgang slightly longer to do so as well.

By the time they arrive at the hotel, they regain their outward composure. Kala leaves her car for the valet to park. She meets Wolfgang's languid expression with an overly-bright gaze that makes his heart race. They hold hands as they cross the lobby, lean closer to each other as they get on the elevator with other hotel guests. They walk down the hallway of his floor, unhurried, but feeling each other's mutual anticipation.

_Six weeks._

They walk into his room and Kala spares an appreciative glance at the sea view before Wolfgang turns her into his arms. He doesn't kiss her right away: He simply stares at her for several seconds, eyes gliding over her expressive face, an enigmatic expression on his own.

“What?” Kala asks, suddenly shy. Her hands rest on his chest, the unfamiliar blue of his shirt almost startling against her skin.

“I'm here. In Mumbai,” he states simply. His hand comes up to sweep the curls from her temple, although they fall immediately back into place. “With you.”

She smiles softly back with deep, brown eyes that understand the seeming impossibility of it all: that reflect the improbable journey that brought them together. Her face is open, unguarded and unafraid to show him that she loves him. He will never understand how that is, how she can love someone like him. He thinks back again to London. Naples. Paris.

They had almost lost each other. The thought still brings with it a kind of sadness, insecurity, amplified in his head because he is damaged in more ways than BPO could do to him. He is not a good man. He falls far short of Rajan.

Kala feels his doubt; she frowns at him, cups his face in her hands. “Its always been you,” she says quietly. “It's always been _just_ you, Wolfgang. Do not doubt that.”

He gives an exhale, nods. The lust he'd felt earlier feels different, no less intense, but so… He can't think of the right word, but he knows, like Kala herself, that it is _different._

“I love you.”  She rests her head lightly against his shoulder. “I almost lost you. I know it in my soul. First BPO. Then…” She doesn't complete the thought but simply burrows closer. “It wasn't fair to Rajan that I felt our marriage was a duty to fulfill. It wasn't fair to you that I thought of what we feel for each other as something to be secreted away.” She sighs deeply, her fingers tugging at his collar. “And I’ve not been honest or fair to myself when I've known all along what I really want. But I'm more than ready to be honest now. I'm done pretending to be happy being dutiful.”

He presses a kiss against her hair, shifts so he can see her face again. _“_ Kala,” he says, his eyes taking in the tension in her expression, the unshed tears. He can feel her regret and her new resolve. She brings a hand up to sweep along the rough texture of his cheek and gives him a soft smile. He brings his head down, his mouth finding hers.

He kisses her fiercely, releasing the doubt that had built inside from the moment she left Paris for Mumbai, from the moment one week turned into two and then three.

_Six weeks._

His hands course along her body, drag her hips to press against his own. She sighs into his mouth and brings her hands to tug impatiently at the hem of his shirt. They break apart to take off each other's clothes: Kala makes quick work of the shirt but curses softly at the buttons of his jeans; Wolfgang deftly removes her blouse and bra before he stops to help her.

“I'm out of practice,” she says, smiling playfully up at him.

“We'll have to fix that,” he answers, removing the last of their clothes himself. He reaches for her and they moan at the rush of sensation their full contact brings.

The feel of their skin against each other in real life never fails to leave them breathless, awed by the intensity of their connection. They take a moment to bask in it, tangle limbs, before the need for even closer contact overtakes them both.

Wolfgang wraps her legs around his hips, smiles at her heavy-lidded gaze as he carries her the short distance to the bed. He pauses before he lays her down.

“I've been thinking how you could make things up to me,” he smirks.

He watches the pupils in her eyes dilate, a smile curve her lips. Kala leans closer to touch her nose to his, rest her cheek against his own. She presses her mouth by his ear. “I've been thinking, too,” she whispers.

He stills, slack-jawed, and murmurs a profanity as he lowers her on the bed, legs still wrapped around him. He presses against her as she sighs her approval, mouths crashing eagerly together.

They kiss hungrily, fingers splayed over bodies in a singular need to remember the feel of each other in real life. Wolfgang's hands move over Kala, palm her pelvis, her thighs, glide under her knees. Kala spreads her fingers wide over his back, sweep lazily forward to cover his pecs. She tightens her legs around his waist, bucks up a little to rub against him. The pleasure of it drags a moan from them both, sends a shudder through the Cluster who tacitly leave them to enjoy their reunion alone.

Wolfgang breathes deeply, intensely aware of Kala's scent, heightened by her arousal. He kisses along her neck, her jaw, her breasts, intent on moving lower, when Kala sits up, hands pressed against his chest. He looks up at her flush face, hair spilled from the pins, mouth bruised, and he moves to kiss her again when she shifts from under him, pushes him back against the bed. She watches his face as she straddles him, and the naked _want_ he feels makes her breath grow heavy.

Kala leans toward him, her hands finding his, twining their fingers, raising his arms over his head.

“This is how I make it up to you,” she says, her voice husky.

And she does.

...

They laze in bed the rest of the afternoon, talk, make love. Wolfgang falls asleep, Kala across his chest. When he wakes, it's dusk, and Kala isn't beside him, the bed sheet dragged over his body. The sound of water running draws his attention to the bathroom door; he hears the shower a moment later.

Wolfgang sits up, craving a cigarette but reluctant to get out of bed. He knows Kala doesn't like him to smoke, disliking the smell that clings to his clothes, his skin. He's mostly quit, except for the almost reflexive need to have a drag after sex.

“Here.” Sun hands him her cigarette. She sits in bed next to him, dressed in a black sheath dress, black pumps.

“Thanks.” Wolfgang accepts the cigarette gratefully, takes a long drag before returning it to her. He smirks at Sun. “I'd visit, but…” He trails off, and she smirks back, eyes flickering over his naked chest.

“Your reunion went well,” she says, eyebrows raised, “even if lunch was a little tense.”

Wolfgang nods in agreement. “Where are you?”

“At a bar. With Mun.” She takes a puff from her cigarette, side-eyes Wolfgang with a faint smile. “I hadn't planned on it. But something convinced me.”

He chuckles a little, shakes his head. He wants to tell her thank you for being there earlier, even if he didn't want her or anyone else there. He wants to tell her that it meant something to him. “Have a nice time,” he tells her instead. She meets his eyes, and he knows _she_ knows. Sun nods and their connection ends, the faint smell of her cigarette still wafting in the air.

He smiles widely as he hears Kala hum over the water. He gets up, walks to the bathroom and lets himself in. He leans against the marble sink, watches Kala as she rinses the soap from her eyes, face upturned to the shower head, humming momentarily suspended. The glass shower door is partially steamed, but not enough to hide her from his appreciative gaze. She wipes her eyes with her hands and turns an owlish look at him.

“Hello,” she smiles. “You're finally awake.”

“I am.” He walks toward the shower, presses his fingertips against the glass. He lets his eyes linger over her curves, watches the water pool and drip between her breasts, trail down to her navel.

“I'm done,” she says, eyes soft, matching her fingertips to his.

“Are you?” He presses his forehead against the glass, smiles back at her.

Kala laughs and turns off the shower. “Yes,” she says with finality. “And I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat.”

“Mmmhm,” he agrees, eyes dancing. 

Kala looks at him in mock horror. “Wolfgang,” she chides.

He grabs a towel from the shelf by the shower and lets himself inside. She watches him warily as he dries her off, motions for her to turn around, and does a reasonably good job, even if he pauses to drop kisses along the way.

“I'm done,” he announces wrapping the towel around her, backing her a little against the wall. “But you're welcome to stay.”

Kala wants to laugh but the look in his eyes sends a shudder of desire down her spine. She swallows and gives a deep exhale. “Maybe we should just get room service,” she murmurs.

He smiles wickedly at her, tugs the towel loose. “That's brilliant,” he says, dipping his head to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient. Writing Kalagang after the Special was kind of a slog, but that's what fanfic is for, right?


	5. A Bump in the Road

Kala sighs softly to herself, face upturns to the late mid-afternoon sun before tilting to look at Wolfgang.

They walk around Jijamata Udyan together. Wolfgang's eyes take in the animals that look no different than the animals in Zoologischer Garten except maybe more _wilted,_ he tells her, from the heat. She laughs a little at his observation. He's in long shorts, fitted grey t-shirt, and although there is a sheen of sweat across his brow, she thinks he's never looked so relaxed, so normal.

The zoo is crowded with people, but it's not actually full. She can sense the faint oppression of Wolfgang's new claustrophobia; he wonders how anyone can live in this kind of weather, with this kind of density. Berlin is not nearly so crowded.

Kala walks beside him, contemplative, fingers loosely twined with his.

Since she's no longer working, they've spent the past three days like tourists, exploring the city, visiting the science museum that fueled her early interest, the Kala Ghoda art district that she impishly admits she used to call the ‘Kala Dandekar’. They eat at places other than her father's restaurant, trying street food that sometimes tastes amazing and other times not. They return to Wolfgang's hotel at night to sleep and talk and make love. Today, they go to the zoo.

They stop at the elephants, lean in at the rails to watch the creatures eating placidly in a corner. Of all the animals, the elephants seem to draw the least visitors today. Maybe in a country known for them, they are almost underwhelming, lazing in captivity.

Kala feels an affinity for them, as she always did. As a child, she inevitably thought of them as Ganesha, and she'd watched them in the streets with wide, reverent eyes before she realized how poorly those elephants were treated, how broken they'd looked as they paraded at weddings or begged for coins with their handlers. When she was older, she’d signed petitions and distributed flyers with activists, eventually successful in getting the elephants banned.

But _then_ what? She'd been young enough to believe the ban was the victory in and of itself, ignorant enough to believe the elephants would be released into the wild after a brief re-learning period, and they would live out their natural lives splashing in rivers.

She watches the small herd, wonders if any of them are ones she'd seen all those years ago. They look well-fed, their needs taken care of. She wonders if they know they're in cages, restricted forever to this small area, every day pre-decided. Her throat constricts, suddenly overwhelmed at the implication.

“Why so silent?” Wolfgang draws her closer, sensing her sudden distress, his hand resting lightly on her hip.

Kala gives a steadying breath. Her eyes watch an elephant roam the entirety of the perimeter before it returns to the others. Wolfgang follows her gaze.

“Will you come with me to see my attorney tomorrow?” she asks, breath hitching. She pulls back from the rail, fingers linking again with Wolfgang’s as they walk away. “I'm to be there at 9 a.m., sharp. There's some news from Rajan's attorney. It's the news we've been waiting for. I want you to be there with me, in person.”

Wolfgang exhales, cautious. “Sure. Of course.”

Kala squeezes his hand. “I think the others should be there too,” she continues. She catches her bottom lip for a moment. “I think it's important enough for others to hear.”

Wolfgang looks at her sharply; a muscle ticks his jaw. “Did your attorney tell you if Rasal has made his decision? Or is this more bullshit from him?” he asks.

Kala shakes her head. “I know Magda met with Rajan's attorney this afternoon,” she says. “And she expects to have some kind of answer tonight.”

She is silent for several seconds in thought, distracted, before she relaxes a little, matches her stride to his. There is nothing they can do now but wait until the morning. They have the rest of today. “What do you want to see next?” she asks, deliberately distracting. She smiles up at him.

He shrugs, looks around. He smiles back, eyes soft. “The tigers.”

...

The law firm is located in Nariman Point, not far from Wolfgang's hotel. The concrete and glass building is on the corner of a busy intersection: It is perhaps 20 stories tall, built sometime in the 70’s, and without the views afforded off of Marine Drive. It is almost indistinct from the other office buildings around it, but once they arrive at the floor occupied by the firm, Wolfgang’s brow ticks up in surprise. The 16th floor looks expensive and very much what one would expect of the Mumbai branch of Winslow, Wise, Allegretti, and Marks.

Wolfgang looks around as he and Kala are escorted from the reception area. His critical eyes take in the wood and leather furniture, original art, fashionably dressed employees, and his mouth sets into a thinly-veiled sneer. His family's lawyers have grown fat over the last several decades, protecting the family and its carefully laundered fortune with a loyal ruthlessness borne of fear and greed. Wolfgang has no love for either them or their profession.

Kala's lawyer waits at the door to her office. Wolfgang has never seen her before although this is Kala's third appointment: He never visited while Kala met with her attorney; it felt invasive to do so given the sensitive topic, and Kala never asked him to be there.

Magda Sas is perhaps 10 years younger than Nomi's father but already the senior partner in charge of the firm's family law division. Wolfgang is somehow surprised to find that she is almost as tall as he is, with striking features in a face framed by a colorful silk hijab that contrasts with her black pantsuit.

She greets them at the door, shakes Kala's hand warmly, regards Wolfgang with an open curiosity that he finds a little disconcerting as Kala introduces them. He suspects Kala has explained where he fits in her life - a suspicion confirmed by the blush across Kala's cheeks as Magda shakes his hand and invites them inside her office.

Magda offers them something to drink, which they decline, and sends away her assistant, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Have a seat,” she says in perfect English, presumably for Wolfgang's benefit. She points them to a round table at the farthest end of her office. “Let me just get some things from my desk.”

Her corner office is large, with two walls dominated by tempered glass windows. The table is at the corner where the windows converge to present a long view of the north and west sides, the north facing a building directly across the street.

Out of habit, Wolfgang's eyes dart quickly around the room: take in how close the buildings are, how little cover they have if anyone chose that moment to do them harm. A small frown crosses his brow before he schools his features to rest: They aren't in any real danger. They aren't in Berlin (which is _safer_ now, he reminds himself), and BPO is no longer a threat.

Wolfgang's unease doesn't go unnoticed as he takes a seat next to Kala, facing the more open, prettier west view. She looks around critically, tries to see things as Wolfgang does. She is suddenly aware of the taller buildings that look easily into theirs, at the office workers she can see across the street. Kala frowns, aware that a lifetime of living dangerously doesn't disappear, even though Wolfgang is disengaged from that life.

“Are you worried where we're sitting?” she asks him quietly. She steals a quick look at Magda, who rifles through some papers, eyes focused on the folder in front of her. “Wolfgang, if you're worried we can sit elsewhere.”

Wolfgang shakes his head, looks at Kala ruefully. “It wouldn't make a difference anyway,” he tells her, half-joking. “This place is too open.”  

She looks at him with wide eyes, but she is unafraid. “Do you really think we're in any danger?” she asks. Berlin is safe enough for her to visit. He's told her this several times. How much more so Mumbai, where his people have no presence?

“No.” He looks steadily at her, sighs with a weariness that tugs at her soul. “I'm just not used to this _, Süße_ ” he says. “Still.”

She squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“You're being paranoid.”

Kala glances back at Will, sitting in a third chair, closest to the window, staring out at the buildings: “No one but Felix knows you're in Mumbai, dude,” he adds. “And really, who is left to care? You're getting out from under the Kings, you're _giving_ your aunt the family fortune, and fixing it so the Russians are satisfied and leave you alone. Who can _possibly_ have it out for you?”

“You never know,” answers Wolfgang. He feels a little foolish but he won't admit it. He tilts his chin in the general direction of the other buildings, voice slightly amazed. “We're sitting in front of a fucking window.”

Will smiles slightly, shakes his head. “Normal people do that,” he says, resigned. “But I’ll keep an eye out, since we were planning on being here anyway.” He grimaces: “Even though this is interrupting poker night and I'm pretty sure Gunnar is about to fleece me out of twenty bucks.” Will stands up, looks out at the surrounding buildings. He’s in street clothes, off duty, but he gives a sudden smile, chuckles as he shakes his head. “Diego says hi, you crazy kids. And he doubts anyone is gonna attempt to take a hit on you in Mumbai, for fucks sake, Wolfgang.”

“Hope not,” Wolfgang agrees, smiling faintly. He settles back beside Kala, relaxes.

“Alright.” Magda joins them at the table, a large accordion folder in hand. She sits on the other side of Kala. “Kala said you'd be with us today.” She pulls her thin laptop from the folder as well as several papers and reading glasses that she perches on her nose. “I'll tell you both now that we’re limited in what we can discuss, but Kala said this involves her… Cluster?” Kala nods at the questioning look, and Magda continues: “And it's important that you hear whatever Rasal has to say. Is anyone else here? Is your Cluster…?”

Kala had explained what she is to her attorney. She had to: It is now the subject of her divorce from Rajan. Kala nods her head without looking about.

Wolfgang feels not just Will's, but his Cluster’s presence. A turn of his head confirms it, along with Hoy, staring back in concern, Bodhi, and unexpectedly, Puck, who sits by Sun.

That the other three are there emphasizes the importance of what Magda has to say. Wolfgang lets out a breath and focuses his attention on Kala's attorney, who opens her laptop and accesses her notes as she speaks.

“I'll just get straight to it,” she says bluntly. “Rasal is not willing to enter into any agreement restricting dissemination or use of your research. He is uninterested in anything that impedes the company's ability to capitalize on your work.”

A collective cry of dismay ripples through the sensates.

The divorce from Rajan was supposed to be a simple one: Kala was not interested in any marital property; Rajan just wanted to move on.

Rajan flew back to Mumbai to hire an attorney, start the process while Kala stayed behind with the Cluster, with Wolfgang. After a week, it was clear that Kala needed her own attorney, and Nomi's father referred Magda. Kala flew back to Mumbai to meet her, execute the necessary paperwork, visit her family to explain what she is before breaking the news about her marriage.

Everything was moving along as well as could be expected. Wolfgang returned to Berlin, met with Fuchs and several of his uncle's old business partners to negotiate a deal that would free him of their expectations. He'd worked hard to come as clean as possible while Kala was in Mumbai, intent on making his city safe for her, for them.

The only thing Kala wanted was the work that she'd done in the fight against BPO. Rajan hadn't objected. But because it involved the company, his father's permission was required for the release.

But Manendra Rasal objected. Very loudly.

All of Kala's research had been done at Rasal Pharmaceuticals, with Rasal Pharmaceuticals materials: work on _homo sensorium_ blockers and antidotes, research in chemical mimicry and neurogenesis in adult sensates, not to mention the chemicals used to create the actual drugs: blockers and counterblockers in solid and liquid form. Legally, all of it belonged to the company. And it had value.

Despite Rajan's pressure, Manendra Rasal refused to release Kala's work to her. With BPO’s main labs destroyed, most, if not all, of the research is also gone. And Whispers is dead. There is no other competition for what Kala's work offers; not just to the public, but to interested governments.

It is too important, and Kala has no choice but to fight for it. The simple divorce now threatens to become an international issue.

Sun gives a suggestion that Kala repeats: “What about giving me the right to decide how the research is used, to whom it is released?”

There's a desperation in Kala's voice that Wolfgang doesn't miss. She sits straight, tense, on the edge of her seat. He rubs her lower back.

Magda frowns. “I suggested that,” she says. “He refuses to concede any decision-making, even the smallest compromise. He feels very strongly about this position.”

“Not all of the research is yours.” Bodhi steps forward, her normally placid expression exhibiting alarm. “We gave you some of it. Some of it was from BPO.”

Kala repeats Bodhi's protest. Magda quirks an interested eyebrow at her. “Can you prove that?” she asks. “Do you have anything to show that your underlying findings are actually from someone else?”

They do not. Kala shakes her head, eyes bright.

“Which reminds me.” Magda shifts uneasily in her seat, looking quickly at her notes. “Rasal is asking whether you've shared or given your research to BPO or anyone else. Because if you have, Rasal Pharma will sue to stop the improper use of its intellectual property.”

She doesn't even finish the sentence before everyone erupts in shocked protest.

“Oh my God,” murmurs Kala, overwhelmed. “Oh my God.”

Wolfgang can feel his face grow warm, anger cutting through any other emotion. “Why?” he asks gruffly. “I thought he _wanted_ this divorce just as much as Kala.”

Magda looks at him grimly. “It's not a matter of the divorce so much as what she wants to keep from it. And Manendra Rasal has the final say in that, according to her employment contract.”

Kala’s fingers clasp tightly in Wolfgang's hand. “How long can this drag out?” she asks, numb.

Magda shrugs. “It could last years,” she admits.

There's an immediate, outraged response from the Cluster, exclamations of frustration and sympathy: There's an audible "fuck no" from Will; Riley moves close enough to rest a sympathetic hand on Kala's shoulder.

“Let's not panic,” urges Nomi. “There's gotta be something we can do.”

Magda speaks over everyone's chatter, unaware of the fury occurring around her: “I know you're upset, but it's not hopeless,” she says.

“The divorce,” Kala asks quietly. “It won't be granted unless we give up the research? Is that the condition?”

Wolfgang curses softly in German. “Does it have to be done all at once?” he asks Magda. “Can't that be decided separately?”

Magda looks at him, surprised. “That's very astute of you, Mr. Bogdanow. I suggested the same thing last night, after hearing back from Patel,” she says, referring to Rajan's attorney. She looks at Kala gently, no doubt experienced at dealing with panicked clients. “I know we hoped to address this as part of the divorce. But there's no need for it to delay things when you and Rajan both want the divorce. Your employment contract is a separate matter altogether.” She looks as if she's about to say something else but pauses. “We need to discuss some strategies going forward. We can at least get the divorce back on track, alright?”

There's a stutter of hope that flickers in Kala; Wolfgang feels it as well. “Ok,” she says, forcing herself to breathe deeply. “Ok.”

“I need to speak to Kala alone, Mr. Bogdanow,” says Magda. She notices the look in Kala's eyes and shakes her head before Kala can protest. “He can't be present, Kala. None of them can. Not if I'm to speak with you about your case.”

“We needn't listen to your private matters,” murmurs Bodhi. She is gone before anyone can comment. The others go too, connections fading as they respect Kala's need for privacy. Wolfgang can feel the Cluster tugging at him, passing along their support.

“I'll wait for you in the reception area,” he tells Kala. He gets up, is stayed momentarily by her hand on his arm, the look in her large eyes. He drops a kiss on the top of her head and leaves.

…

They have brunch at a restaurant in the business district when she's finished. Neither had eaten much before they left to see Magda, and Kala suggests a restaurant nearby.

She doesn't tell Wolfgang, and he doesn't ask, what happened after they'd all left her attorney's office. Kala talks about other things, mentions her father messaged her that morning to invite them both to the restaurant any time this week for dinner. She smiles and presumes it means a truce of sorts. 

Wolfgang watches her and agrees to whatever she'd like: She looks weary but unbroken, and she smiles at him with a look meant to reassure him that everything will be fine. All of it.

Both can tell, from the underlying thrum of their connection, that they are not far from the thoughts of their cluster; that the biggest concern is for their well-being. For now, the others give them privacy, a moment to process what's happened.

When they finish eating, neither are particularly interested in touristy things. They head back to the hotel, crawl fully-clothed on top of the newly-made bed, lie beside each other in comfortable silence for several minutes.

Wolfgang closes his eyes, careful not to let his thoughts bleed into the collective. He wonders if Kala had felt his doubts in Paris, if that led her to ask for a divorce from Rajan. If she hadn't asked for the divorce, she wouldn’t have quit Rasal Pharmaceuticals; there would be no question about a contract, about control over her research.

“Wolfgang.” Kala's voice is quiet, unsure if he's fallen asleep. He opens his eyes and finds that she has turned to her side to face him, her hand propping her head, her expression serious. Wolfgang shifts to his side to face her. She bites her lower lip, flushing.

“What, _Süße_?” He brushes aside tendrils of dark curls from her forehead, watches as they fall back over her face and smiles with her when they do. He draws them gently behind her ear and kisses her softly.

Kala sighs as he lifts his head away, and he's alarmed to see her eyes bright. “Kala.” He cups her face with his hand, thumbs away a tear. “Kala.”

She shrugs apologetically, gives him a watery smile. “Is it wrong,” she asks, “that while I'm worried about my work, while I'm worried what it could mean for other sensates if I don't take control, I am more worried about _us_? That I want the divorce just as badly as I want my work? That the only saving thought I had this morning is so long as you're with me, so long as we can be together, everything will be alright?”

Wolfgang doesn't wait for her to finish before he is kissing her: her face, her neck, her mouth.

He leaves her breathless.

He leaves her no doubt what he thinks of her confession.

 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life continues to interfere with update schedules, but tysm for continuing to read! 
> 
> Many thanks to my amazing beta @kinoglowworm for keeping this readable:-)


	6. The Penthouse

Wolfgang finishes his shower, dries himself off with a large towel that he uses to cover himself instead of the hotel robe hanging from a hook. He brushes his teeth, turns off the water when he hears a faint buzzing. Wolfgang opens the bathroom door. Kala stirs in bed, reaches sleepily for her cellphone charging on the nightstand near her.

He finishes brushing, fixes his hair with careless fingers, and leaves the bathroom. Kala sits in bed, hugging her knees, bed sheets pulled around her. There is a crease between her brows as she presses an ear against her phone.

She smiles quickly at him as he walks toward her; answers the caller with a clipped “yes” and “of course”. Wolfgang pauses and quirks an eyebrow in silent inquiry. From the small shake of her head, he knows she's not talking to her attorney, Magda, and he relaxes a little, assured that at least it's not more bad news about the divorce. Riley told them last night that Bodhi was meeting with Dr. El- Sadawi to discuss the Rasals’ apparent rejection of any compromise. There would be another meeting to discuss other options, including buying out the rights, if there is sufficient money. Doubtless, they will all need to meet very soon.

Kala had emptied Wolfgang's suitcase, hung his things in the closet or put them away in the dresser. He takes off the towel, puts it on the bed on his way to the dresser in search of appropriate clothing.

He throws on his underwear, jeans, a fitted gray shirt that effectively wicks the sweat from his body in the unrelenting Indian heat. He finds some socks and turns back to Kala, catches her appreciative stare. He smirks when she realizes she's caught and a faint blush rises to her cheeks. He hadn't noticed she'd finished her call.

“I saw you looking,” he tells her, amused that even after everything, getting caught watching him dress still makes her blush.

“I just don't know how you can wear those,” she says, pointing half-heartedly at his jeans. “It's too hot outside.”

He sits on the bed, faces her with a self-satisfied expression. “Oh,” he murmurs, unconvinced. “It's not that bad.” He leans to her, one hand reaching to cup her nape and draw her close for a kiss. Kala gives a faint sigh, brings her lips to meet his. She runs her tongue across his mouth and smiles against him when he lets out a soft moan. They kiss teasingly for several seconds, unhurried, until Wolfgang finally draws his head back. “Coffee,” he murmurs. “I'll get your chai.”

Kala smiles back at him. “I'll go with you.” She gives him a final kiss and shifts to remove the sheets, swing her legs aside to get out of bed.

Wolfgang rarely sleeps clothed, and he'd convinced Kala of the futility of keeping anything on when he's bound to remove it at some point.

She's naked under the sheets, and he doesn't disguise the flicker of want as his eyes travel over her body when she stands, linger at the curve of her hips and rear. She catches him watching her as she had watched him and she laughs a little, no longer so self-conscious about nudity, but still shy at the open look of desire on his face.

“You distracted me from telling you who I just spoke with this morning,” she says, slightly flustered. She reaches for the damp towel he'd left on the bed and wraps it around her.

“Who?” He marvels that she still feels shy with him, but he finds it endearing, and he smiles although he suspects it is more of a smirk. From the prim look she gives him back, he knows that it is.

“That was the real estate agent,” she says. "The people who are buying the flat agreed to buy the furniture, and now all of the papers will be signed by next week. I need to grab my things from the penthouse.”

Wolfgang nods. Rajan had put the penthouse up for sale as soon as he returned to Mumbai without Kala. An offer was made and accepted not long afterward. Rajan’s things are already gone.

Officially, Kala still lives there, although she's packed most of her personal possessions; moved them little by little to her parents’ home where they remain inside marked boxes. She has not returned to the penthouse since Wolfgang's arrival, but with all negotiations complete, the papers waiting to be drawn and signed, the penthouse will belong to someone else very soon.

“Let's go this morning.” Wolfgang stretches on the bed. They have no real plans for the day. “Is there much left?”

Kala shakes her head. “A couple of boxes; things I want to donate. Some clothes and shoes.”

“Ok.” He gives a slight shrug, smiles lazily at her. “And then we come back here?”

She raises her eyebrows, mouth ticking up in a slow smile.“I'll be quick.”

He watches her disappear into the bathroom, gives a faint exhale. He is hopelessly lost, and he smiles a little at that: He never would have guessed, nearly two years ago, when he was numbing the sensation of warm Italian waters, that he would ever be here, with her in Mumbai.

He listens for a moment to the sound of the shower, remembers that his stay here, at the hotel, is almost over: His dislike of the place on sight caused Nomi to change his reservation from 2 weeks to 1, but he hasn't thought where else to go. He was truthful when he'd told Kala's family that he'll stay as long as Kala needs him, and he wonders whether he should rent a place for a month or two. He grimaces at the thought of telling Felix, but doubts Felix will be very surprised.

Wolfgang reaches for his own phone to check messages and sees several from his friend, although a quick look shows the most recent are drunken texts from a club Felix was at last night. Wolfgang smiles a little at the last message, about some woman who looks a little like that redhaired girl Felix had a crush on in secondary school _: do you remember?_ (Of course Wolfgang does, because he doesn't forget how she broke Felix's heart right before Felix went to _Berufsschule._ ) Wolfgang rolls his eyes.

The amusement is short-lived: There's a deliberately vague message from Fuchs yesterday that Wolfgang missed. The message merely asks when Wolfgang will be back in Berlin. Wolfgang stares at it for several seconds before responding: “I don't know.”

Fuchs has been patient: incredulous, but ultimately trusting that Wolfgang is serious in getting out, retiring for good. Fuchs is more than happy to take over the Bogdanow territory. But until Wolfgang finishes talking to the Russians, sells certain assets, and legally gives up others to his Aunt Elke, Wolfgang can't be free of the Bogdanow name.

The realization butts against his earlier thoughts: He has to go back to Berlin so _this_ \- waking up to Kala, building a life with her - can be real; can be _normal._

Wolfgang looks up when the bathroom door opens and Kala steps out, smiles gently at him. Berlin is as much in his blood as Mumbai is in hers. He wants to show her his city. He wants to spend days and nights lazing in bed, or walking along the Spree or exploring the museums. He wants to eat at the Indian restaurant where he'd first seen her, although the food doesn't compare to her father's: He wants to get her tea and pastries and sit outside in the brisk autumn sun of the cafe in Mitte she only ever saw during a downpour.

He is almost done, getting out from under his family, from no longer giving a fuck about the Kings. He is so close he can almost feel freedom.

…

Kala brings her tote and Wolfgang's empty suitcase to take her stray items. He shakes his head, amused to think he'd packed for an indefinite trip to India in a duffle and the single suitcase that she hopes is enough to bring her leftover things. “I have shoes,” she says defensively. They stop at a hotel shop for coffee and chai.

Although the penthouse isn't far from the hotel, Kala drives so they can bring her things back with them.

It feels a little surreal, going with her to the place she'd shared with Rajan. The closer they get, the more off Wolfgang feels. He’s not certain why. Neither expect Rajan to be there, even if he had left anything at the penthouse: It's a work day, and Rajan's mornings are typically filled by meetings.

When they arrive at the building, Kala greets the security at the front desk. Wolfgang moves beside her, staring down the guards out of habit more than any need to intimidate. Kala rests her hand on Wolfgang's arm. “He’s with me,” she tells the guards. They nod politely but glare back at Wolfgang, suspicious.

The penthouse is on the top floor. Wolfgang has never been here before. Not in real life.

Two bankers boxes are already in the foyer when Kala lets them inside. She gives a faint exhale: “Well,” she says. She looks around and Wolfgang can feel a hesitation; a flicker of sadness, maybe regret. He stiffens, unwilling to ask. “I just need to check a couple of rooms,” she tells him. “Just wait for me? I'll be quick.”

He looks around, taking in the color and light of the main room that is larger than his apartment in Berlin. He looks at art pieces that are tagged and to be sent to Manendra Rasal: Even if he hadn't spent his life learning to recognize valuable things, Wolfgang would have known them to be very expensive.

It's early still, but it's hot, like every day has been. Wolfgang steps outside to the deck that he's only seen once; lingers to stare at the pool. He wonders how it would feel to swim in it, in real life, and he frowns, inexplicably annoyed. He returns inside just as Kala rolls his suitcase by the door, beside the two boxes of donation items.

“Is that all?” The cardboard boxes look light enough to stack on top of each other and take on a single trip.

Kala wrinkles her brows, mentally reviewing the rooms where she's been. She gives a small, apologetic smile: “I didn't check in the en suite,” she says, catching her lower lip. “One moment.” She leaves the suitcase with the boxes and turns back quickly toward her bedroom.

This time, Wolfgang follows her down a narrow hallway, touches walls that seem familiar. She turns, disappears from his sight. He pauses before he enters the one room in the home he _has_ visited.

The master bedroom is both familiar and not: larger than he'd realized, more colorful but somehow less personal, staged for a prospective buyer.

His eyes rest on the large, neatly made bed, mind racing at memories that overlay one on top of the other. He'd never thought to be here in person, not after the first time, that first morning, when his sheer amazement and euphoria were quickly followed by a wave of guilt and recrimination: emotions that belonged to Kala. He'd slept with married women before; it shouldn’t have surprised him, knowing her. But it _had_ surprised him. Even worse, it had hurt.

He grimaces at the early recollection, brows drawn tightly together. Something pushes at him, restless, and he gives a humorless smirk when he suddenly recognizes it as an irrational resentment: Rajan has never uttered an unkind word to him or shown him anything but courtesy, even empathy. But being here, where Rajan lived with Kala, Wolfgang feels a primal urge to assert himself, a voice that sounds suspiciously like his father: _Mine._

Kala emerges from the bathroom, a tote slung over her shoulder. “I'm ready,” she says.

He looks up, almost surprised by her appearance, his blue gaze taut. Kala notices his hand, fingers resting lightly on the bedsheets. She lets out a sharp huff, takes a steadying breath. “Let's go,” she says softly. She turns away, back stiff. Wolfgang stares after her for a moment before he follows.

He can feel Kala's unease, aware of the role he plays in any guilt she must feel at being here with him. He has many offenses he should feel guilty for, but he can't when it comes to being with her. Not now, since arriving in Mumbai; since she introduced him to her worried family, and the hope he'd tried to bury in Paris fluttered back to life.

She's already in the foyer, standing by the boxes and his suitcase. Her back faces him, head down, fingers fidget with the edge of the tote. The strangeness of being here together feels oppressive,now. He wants to leave as badly as he can tell she does.

Instead, Wolfgang rests his hand on the small of Kala's back, presses enough that she turns around to face him. “Hey,” he murmurs. There's a tight frown between her brows, but she relaxes a little against him, hands rest on his chest, her gaze meeting his.

“I don’t know -,” he begins, but stops midway, uncertain what it is he really wants to say. He can feel emotions from her that she tries to keep to herself, and he only knows he has caused it, that his ambivalence, his memories of this place have caused her discomfort. “I don't know how to make you feel better,” he says at last. He gives a soft exhale, dips to touch his forehead to hers. He doesn't know what to tell her so that she doesn't feel guilt. “I'm sorry.”

Kala shakes her head. She drops her gaze to look at a point somewhere along his neck, just above his slate gray shirt. “ _No,_ ” she says, lips pressing tightly together before she continues. “No, Wolfgang. You have nothing to be sorry for. _I_ am sorry.” She looks up at him then, her dark brown eyes fierce. “I'm ashamed to be here with you,” she says, voice low, “but not because I'm sorry of what happened here, with us. I'm ashamed because I took a step here to be brave, and I couldn't stay brave, and everything that happened, all of it, was because of that. Because of me.”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes avoiding his, words tumble in a rush: "The night I visited you, I finally realized - I finally admitted - that I was wrong to marry Rajan when I didn't love him. Whether or not I'd known you, Wolfgang, it was wrong. And it had seemed so clear to me - the longer I was married, the more confused and unhappy I became - that I needed to fix it. I _had_ to fix it. I had to be brave enough to fix it. And I came to you because you are so brave, Wolfgang, and because I knew then - I knew long before then - that I love you."

She stops talking long enough to look at him, and he swallows hard, disbelieving that she is apologizing to him. “ _Süße_ ,” he whispers.

“I took that first step with you, brave in that one moment, in the dark, like a coward,” she says softly. “In the morning, I doubted everything again: I was being selfish. I would disappoint so many people. Rajan was so happy.” She shakes her head. Her eyes drop to watch her hands fidget at his shirt. “But if I'd told Rajan right away, if I'd agreed to let you come to Mumbai instead of waiting for me to make up my mind, Lila -”

“Kala.” Wolfgang’s hands grip her shoulders firmly. She drags her eyes back to his. “Lila was not your fault. I'm the one that met her, that brought our cluster to her attention.”

She is silent for several seconds, her gaze unwavering. “That day, when you were playing football with Felix, and I told you it couldn't happen again…” She eyes him closely, chews her lower lip. “If I told you that I was leaving Rajan, if I asked you to come to Mumbai, would you have?”

Wolfgang recalls every moment of their visit; can remember catching her stare from the side of the pitch, how his pulse had raced, and how maybe he had shown off just a little for her. He remembers every word she said, and how frozen he was for a heartbeat thinking she was going to send him away forever. How he'd downplayed what they'd done as a fantasy because he couldn't think of another way to keep her to him. But she'd called his bullshit: She knew it wasn't a fantasy, just as he did, and he'd snapped at the truth, at her effort to set him aside.

If she had said none of those things, but been the Kala who had visited him in the night, if instead she had asked him to come to Mumbai, that she was leaving Rajan for him…

“Fuck yes.” The answer falls from his mouth before he even thinks it through. “I already knew I love you, too.”

Kala lets out a breath, eyes bright.

“Me being taken by BPO was not your fault,” he says, his expression grim. “Berlin or Mumbai, Lila would have led them to me."

She shakes her head, buries her face in his shirt with a faint sniffle. Wolfgang holds her gently. "I don't care about any of that, Kala," he murmurs. "You're with me now. That's all that matters to me. That's all I want.”

She hugs him tightly. They stand in each other's embrace for a minute, maybe longer before they separate. Wolfgang kisses Kala's forehead.

“Let's go,” he says.

…

Wolfgang puts the boxes (which are heavier than they look, he remarks suspiciously) in the small trunk with the suitcase; Kala squeezes in the tote. He offers to drive, but she shakes her head. He gets in the passenger seat.

“Are you ok?” he asks. He’s taken to sitting with his arm across Kala's seat, where he can slide his hand to rest on her shoulder or touch her neck or her hair.

She nods, gaze focused on the road although she worries her bottom lip. He doesn't press her, still somewhat shaken by her revelation, stunned to think that she’s felt guilty for anything that's happened to him.

They stop at a facility for girls to drop off the two boxes that Kala wants to donate. Wolfgang retrieves them from the trunk as Kala speaks warmly to the young woman ("Ambra," she says, introducing them) who runs the centre. He hears enough of their conversation to learn that Kala volunteers there sometimes to tutor.

Wolfgang grunts when he finally deposits the heavy banker's boxes into Ambra's small office. She opens one box and grins widely at the notebooks and binders and bundled pencils. The second box is full of loose paper and more notebooks and folders. She thanks Kala profusely.

“No wonder those were heavy,” mutters Wolfgang as they leave the centre, his arm flexing lightly around her waist. “You could have warned me they were stolen office supplies.”

Kala shakes her head, lips tugging up into a faint smile. “Oh, of course those aren't stolen,” she says. “Those were all mine: notebooks that I'd used but forgotten or misplaced and some old folders and things from projects I worked on.” She side-eyes him and laughs a little under his amused look. “Anyway, I rip out the pages I've used and bring them here. They would have been wasted otherwise.”

He smirks, squeezes her waist gently. “I’m sure your office won't miss all those pencils, _Süße,_ ” he murmurs, soothingly. She smiles up at him.

They leave the suitcase and tote in the car when they arrive at the hotel; Kala sends a text message to the agent that her things are gone from the penthouse.

They go back to Wolfgang's room, pause for a moment to appreciate the view, which looks particularly peaceful, and sit in an oversized chaise that faces the window. Wolfgang lies back, sighs as he stretches his legs out. He reaches for Kala; she curls across his lap, rests her head on his shoulder, her arms around his waist. He holds her loosely as they watch the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide, waves gently folding into each other. Kala's body relaxes against Wolfgang. They're both silent, content to hold each other for several minutes.

He hears the faint buzzing of her cellphone in her purse.

“Kala?” Wolfgang shifts a little so he can see her. She'd fallen asleep, mouth slightly parted, a slight furrow between her brows. He smiles softly, kisses the top of her head. The cellphone stops buzzing. Wolfgang shifts again to a comfortable position and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to @KinoGlowWorm for parsing through this exposition so that it isn't a disjointed mess. (It might still be a little, but that's completely my fault.)
> 
> And thank you all for your patience and continuing to read<3


	7. Interruptions

They wake up an hour or so later, the insistent dance beat of Kala’s ringtone thrumming from her purse on the floor.

Kala squints, disoriented, as she shifts from her position across Wolfgang's lap to reach her phone before the second round of _Swag se Swagat_ plays even louder. (Daya's idea, of course, to signal a family call.) Kala pulls her cellphone from the side pocket, presses it against her ear.

“Hello?” she says, voice husky with sleep. She sits up, rubs her eyes against the midafternoon sun. Wolfgang plants a kiss at the nape of her neck as he shifts her hips more comfortably on his lap, his eyes still partially shut.

“Oh my God, Kala. Oh. My. God.” Daya’s voice is a panicked whisper. “Guess what just happened?”

Kala yawns, frowns a little in confusion. “What just happened?”

Daya takes an uncharacteristic breath before she erupts in frantic chatter: “Aunty Ina found out. Mom and Dad found out. _Everyone_ found out. I mean, _we all did._ And now Dad is trying to calm them down, but Mom was crying and -"

“Wait. What is happening? Where are you?” Kala sits up fully, more concerned than alarmed. She exchanges worried looks with Wolfgang who frowns back, blue eyes snapping into focus. He squeezes her hip in support. Kala tilts her phone from her ear so he can better hear Daya.

“I'm at home.” In the background, Kala can make out other rapid voices, faint, in another room. She imagines Daya is in the bedroom they once shared, door closed. Daya gives a huff: “I wish I wasn't. Kala, I'm so sorry! I didn't know! I didn't think anything of it.”

She pauses, and Kala’s brows furrow in growing frustration. “ _What_ didn't you think about?” she prompts. “ _What_ didn't you know?”

Daya makes a pained sound, takes another breath: “Aunty Ina asked me to help her with the internet, and we looked up Wolfgang,” she says, each word sinking slowly into Kala’s consciousness. “I’m so sorry, I didn't know any better.”

“What exactly did you find? Why was Aunty even looking him up?” Kala tries to keep her voice level although her heart races. She looks at Wolfgang; he stares back, his expression unreadable.

“Aunty asked me to look for his locksmith shop in Berlin. She didn't know how to do it, so she asked me; she was just curious about his business, and I didn't think anything of it. And we looked it up.” Daya’s voice drops in distress. “Kala, the very first thing that came up was this news about a shooting - a shooting! - at this locksmith shop, and the shop wasn't in his name, but I guess he said he owns it with his friend. And the man who was shot... the police said it was targeted. And Kala...he's - Wolfgang is from a very bad family. They say they're Russian mob. There was this link, and Aunty insisted we look. And we saw this video about these criminals in Germany. It's the same name. There was a Hassan. And then they mentioned someone else, his son, I don't remember the name. But then _Wolfgang,_ his only surviving grandson. Kala that's him, isn't it? Is that his family?”

Kala's eyes are wide, frozen, as she watches Wolfgang. “Kala?” Daya asks, unnerved by the silence. “What should I do? Is that him?”

Wolfgang gives a faint, humorless smile. “That's me,” he says; Daya gives an audible gasp of surprise. “And what _can_ you do? It's all true.”

“How are Mom and Dad?” Kala feels as if she's visiting herself, her tone calm, even though she is at a loss what to do, what to say to make any of it better. She never intended to tell her family anything more of Wolfgang's past than she's already done, or what he disclosed during that awkward lunch. She never thought anyone would bother looking him up on the internet: Her Aunty Ina is incapable of using a computer, and her parents are satisfied with what she tells them. She never imagined that her aunt would be so nosy as to ask Daya to help her look; or that Daya would do it; or that such damning information would be the _first_ to come up.

“The Guy” helped Nomi scrub stories and reports that identified sensates by name in the war against “old” BPO, so that every sensate is free to resume their lives, pick up a semblance of normalcy: Sun exonerated of her brother's crimes, the events in prison deemed self-defense and her escape a pardonable result; Will to policing, after the review board accepted a vague but official explanation of undercover work with Interpol, courtesy of Nomi; Capheus to resume a heated race for political office; Lito to filming his Hollywood debut; Nomi to married life in San Francisco; Riley to booking gigs at festivals and clubs from her new base in Chicago. And Wolfgang to be the heir-apparent of a notorious international crime family.

Kala cringes. She gets up from Wolfgang's lap, puts the phone on speaker, paces.

“As you can imagine, Mom and Dad are very unhappy,” Daya says before she pauses abruptly, mindful that Wolfgang is there, listening, and capable of understanding Hindi. Daya finally gives a restless huff. “Aunty Ina made them come watch with us on the computer. We were all shocked. Mom was beside herself. She was worried about how dangerous Wolfgang is - umm…” Daya stops awkwardly, then seems to shrug: “Aunty is asking again why you would leave Rajan for Wolfgang, and she's saying that maybe you were kidnapped, and now you're brainwashed and you have that thing where you have sympathy for your captor.”

“Aunty thinks I have Stockholm Syndrome?” Despite herself, Kala gives a short laugh. “Oh God. Why would she think that? What reason?” Kala shakes her head. She stops, eyes worried as she glances at Wolfgang who stares pensively at the sea view. “Did someone tell her that Wolfgang and I… That we're sensates?” she asks, afraid of the answer. No one outside of her immediate family know, except for Rajan and Magda: Rajan agreed it was dangerous information, and his father was told only that Kala’s research was something she pursued for her own interest.

“No.” Daya’s response is immediate. “No one told her. And I think the more Aunty went on,  the more Mom and Dad calmed down a little although I think they are very upset with you for not telling them. Dad told Mom she shouldn't worry about anything happening to you because of your _connection_ , and that seemed to help even though Aunty didn't get what he was talking about. She thinks he just means… you know, like a _normal_ connection. Like -”

“I know.” Kala chews her lip, relieved that at least no one told Aunty Ina her secret, but she feels a stab of guilt, imagining her parents worry. “What is happening now? Is Aunty still there?”

Daya makes another sound. “Of _course_ she's still here! She wants to go to your house right now and talk some sense into you. She's trying to get Mom to agree to come with her. She might just go _without_ Mom. But I think she might be a little afraid of running into Wolfgang.”

Wolfgang scoffs from the chaise. Kala mutters softly under her breath. “Since I'm not there, that would be a tremendous waste of time,” she says, annoyed. Daya merely hums her agreement. Kala is silent for a moment before she shakes her head. “Thank you for telling me right away, Daya,” she says quietly. Kala turns off the speaker, presses the phone against her ear. She walks back to the chaise while Daya apologizes again for helping their aunt. “You didn't know, Daya, it's ok,” Kala assures her.

She sits down next to Wolfgang, tilts her head in question, and after a slight hesitation, Wolfgang reaches for her, settles her to sit across his lap again. She lays her head on his shoulder, feels tension ebb from him as she does so.

“I'm so sorry, _Didi_.” Daya says, voice tight,  apologetic. “I couldn't think of anything else to do but tell you as soon as I could sneak off. I'm so sorry.”

“I'm not angry with you, Daya.” Kala looks up at Wolfgang with a faint, rueful smile. “I should have said something. They would have found out someday. But I was hoping not so soon.”

Daya makes a clicking sound with her tongue

“What are you going to do now?” she asks, breath hitching. “What if Dad tells you he doesn't like this? What if he says you need to rethink your future?”

Kala exhales slowly. This is precisely what her father has been saying all along, albeit about the divorce itself, rather than Wolfgang. “It makes no difference, Daya,” she says.  

“No?”

“No.” Kala touches Wolfgang's cheek, thumbs the edge of his mouth, eyes large. “Daya,” she says, voice sure, “I love him so much. I don't want to hurt Mom or Dad, but Wolfgang is my family now.” His face softens under her touch but his eyes blaze.

Daya grows silent. “Kala,” she finally says, breathless. “Oh I'm so _happy_ for you.” Her answer is so unexpected that Kala gives a startled laugh; Daya makes another incoherent sound: “I mean, I was a _little_ worried, but not if _you're_ not, and there was nothing in the link about _him_ , really, just his family. And as Dad said, Wolfgang can't help being born to bad people, just so long as _he's_ not a bad person. And the way that he looks at you! The way that you look at him! I just knew it! And you deserve to be happy. And I might just cry.”

“Daya.” Kala smiles a little, touched by her sister's sincerity. “Thank you.”

Daya sniffles suspiciously.

“I'll call Mom and Dad later,” Kala says, “maybe much later, after they've all had a chance to calm down.” She shakes her head, anticipating a conversation not dissimilar to the one she'd had with her parents when she'd told them about the divorce. But the thought no longer paralyzes her with fear.

She says goodbye to Daya, leaves the phone on her lap as she settles her cheek against Wolfgang's neck.

“Well,” he says, running one hand along her back, the other wrapped lightly around her waist, “Aunty Ina isn't wrong to be suspicious.”

Kala hums a half-hearted agreement, closes her eyes against the feel of his hand. “She's still a busy body,” she murmurs. “But we’ll deal with her later.” She tilts her head back up, rubs her nose gently against his neck, smiles at the low growl he gives in response. She breathes him in, comforted by his familiar scent, then stills as a thought occurs to her.

“Wolfgang.” Kala catches the corner of her lip. “Is your stay in this hotel nearly over?” she asks.

He nods. “Two days,” he admits. “I haven't looked elsewhere, but I suppose if I need to I'll ask Nomi to make it longer.” He brushes aside an errant curl from her temple, unconcerned.

“Wolfgang,” she asks, slightly breathless, “do you think you would like to share a place with me while you're here?”

He tenses a little beneath her touch, and she adds hastily: “Only if you want. I've been looking for a new flat for a few weeks now, and I've found a place, furnished…” She falters, not wishing him to think she is pushing him to stay longer. “I know you have to go back. I'm not asking you to stay here until everything is settled. I just thought, while you're here, and maybe when you come back -” She gives a huff.

“ _Süße_.” Wolfgang shakes his head, bemused that she would even question his answer. “I'll go wherever you are, wherever you want. Besides,” he adds quietly, “you know I like the idea of living with you.”

Kala lets out an exhale, her eyes luminous. She nestles her head in the hollow of his collarbone. “I didn't know if I should even ask you, if you would want me to,” she admits, laughing a little. “But I'm ready to rent this flat, and I want you so much to stay with me, even if it's for only another week, or just another day.” She stops, suddenly caught by the reminder that Wolfgang's stay is impermanent; that hers looks to be much longer than she'd ever thought. Her divorce requires a year of separation before the petition can be filed: She had thought to wait out that year with Wolfgang, in Berlin, in London, wherever they want. But with the complication and importance of her research rights, Magda strongly cautioned against leaving the country.

Kala dips her nose against his neck, willing the shadow of his departure far away. “You can stay with me, whenever you are here,” she murmurs.

“And we'll have a place to stay together when we come back from Berlin,” he adds. He brushes her cheek with gentle fingers, cradles her on his lap.  

“Oh,I hope so.” She shuts her eyes briefly, pensive. “Maybe Bodhi will tell us today that BPO will buy out the company,” she sighs.

Wolfgang gives a faint smile, as aware as she is that BPO no longer has the kind of funds needed to do such a thing. The irony of their situation is not lost on either of them. They are quiet for another moment.

“Did you mean what you said to Daya?”

Kala shifts her head slightly on his shoulder, smiles. “That I love you?” She kisses his collar bone, burrows deeper into his embrace. “Of course. How can you doubt that?”

“No.” He moves a little under her, his voice soft: “That I'm your family now.”

Kala stills; her smile fades as she sits up to look at him. Behind his cool blue gaze is a flicker of vulnerability, and her heart clenches. She remembers how utterly lost she felt without him, how she had meant every word when she told him that he is the reason she knows what love is. He is her world. Her eyes grow bright. “Yes,” she whispers. “My love, you _are._ ”

She feels a surge of raw emotion in him almost before she leans forward to kiss him; that he marvels she can feel for him what he feels for her. She wants to kiss away any insecurity, purge him of any lingering doubt.

But Wolfgang doesn't kiss to reassure. His mouth meets hers roughly, overwhelmed, invading her senses until there is nothing beyond the taste of him, the feel of his tongue, the nip of his teeth. Kala inhales deeply on a ragged moan. He shifts their bodies on the chaise so she is almost off his lap, thighs parting; she gives a quick exhale of surprise.

“Kala,” he murmurs. He has much he wants to say, but no words to say them with; she feels the push and pull of how deeply her answer affects him. His mouth finds hers again, but his kiss is less consuming, softer, slower.

Wolfgang’s hand slides up between her legs, fingers unerringly find the spot that makes her weak with need, even through the fabric of her loose linen shorts, through the silk of her underwear. He pads the sensitive area, strokes until she's startled to hear a whimper come from her mouth. He plays with her for several seconds longer before he slides his hand up through the wide leg of her shorts to touch her inner thigh, fingers glide under the lace panty to touch sensitive flesh. She gasps, legs tremble as his fingers stroke and part and explore her, firm and bold and achingly expert.

When she comes, it is in a burst of violent colors that roll in waves, her body at once taut and heavy, buoyant and light. He holds her tightly as she rides through the rippling sensations, and when she finishes, she feels his lips against her head, kissing her lightly as his hand retreats from the inside of her linen shorts.

Kala burrows her face into his shoulder with broken breath: She doesn't need to look at him to know his face holds a self-satisfied smirk, but that his eyes will hold nothing but how much he loves her. She tilts her head to look at him, stutters at his expression.

The cell phone between them suddenly buzzes.

They expel a breath at the interruption. Wolfgang gives a sigh but relaxes: “Go ahead,” he assures her, hand rubbing circles along her side.

Kala looks down at the number and frowns as she answers the call: “Ambra?”

“Ah good! Hello, Kala.” Ambra sounds cheerfully relieved. “I sent one of the girls to your place with some more work notes and things that we found in the folders, but she just came back and said you aren't home, and that the security at the front desk won't hold them because you might not be coming back.” Ambra’s voice drops discreetly, although she is loud enough that Wolfgang can still hear every word: “I tried calling earlier but you didn't answer. Shall I send her to your parents’ house?”

Kala gives a hasty “No,” recalling that her Aunty Ina is there. “I'll come get them,” she says.

“Thank you!” Ambra mutters quickly to someone beside her. “Will you be here soon? I have to leave in a few minutes for an appointment, and no one will be at the centre after I go. We're closed for a few days. Should I just hold them until next week?”

Kala purses her lips. This is not the first time that she's inadvertently left something: The notes can be nothing, or they can contain fragments of valuable data. Wolfgang hums softly, resigned; he kisses her temple. “I'll be there in a few minutes,” she tells Ambra.

Wolfgang shakes his head when Kala hangs up, dropping the phone into her purse. “I'm sorry,” she says, contrite. “I want to make sure it's nothing important.” She kisses his jaw, traces her fingers along his cheek.

“I know.” Wolfgang kisses her palm. She moves gently off his lap as he swings his legs to the floor, stretches them. “Go get the notes before Ambra leaves, _Süße_ ,” he says. “We have the rest of the day.”

Kala nods, slightly disoriented. She adjusts her top, her shorts, and smiles ruefully when she notices he does the same. “Are you ok?” she asks, eyes resting softly from his jeans to his slightly flushed face.

“I'll live,” he answers, dragging her back into his arms. She wrinkles her nose at him, concerned, but he merely smiles, dips his head to kiss her softly. Her arms wrap around him, her body warm and pliant.

A thought occurs to her and her face brightens: “The leasing company isn’t too far from the girls’ centre. I'll stop by there to sign for the flat.”

Wolfgang nods. “Yes,” he murmurs, kissing her again. “How long do you think you'll be gone?”

Kala does a quick estimate in her head for traffic and paperwork and grimaces a little; midday traffic in Mumbai is never easy. “Not more than two hours,” she says. Wolfgang merely shrugs. “I'll hurry,” she promises.

Kala draws away. She reaches for her purse,  grabs one of the hotel keys as she leaves, slightly disheveled.

Wolfgang stares after her, takes a steadying breath.

He reaches for his cellphone in his back pocket, scrolls through his contacts, and finds the number that Kala gave him. He stares for a moment and pushes the button before he loses nerve. The line rings twice before someone answers.

“Hello?” Sanyam sounds cautious, not recognizing the number on his phone.

“Hello.” Wolfgang pauses, heart suddenly racing. Will is beside him, gives him a gentle shove. “This is Wolfgang,” he continues. “Can we meet somewhere? I think we need to talk.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely max-riemelts-me for betaing the first half of this chapter. Anything past that is my unadulterated ramble. 
> 
> These chapters seem to get longer the more I try to fit into a preconceived idea of how many this story is going to have. But at the moment, I think this won't go over 10. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Comments are much appreciated :-)


	8. The Talk

Wolfgang flashes between a quiet apartment kitchen bathed in street light and a claustrophobic taxi in Mumbai. He tells himself he's ambivalent, even as the psycellium that connects him to his cluster _knows_. He resists a little, but when he finally gives in, he is in the kitchen, sitting with resigned patience. Will sits across from him at the small table, a beer bottle in each hand, one of which he gives to Wolfgang. Wolfgang accepts his bottle wryly, the cool glass a welcome relief from the hot cab.

It's not quite two in the morning, but Will had the night off and he's awake, his sleep rhythm back to what it was before the mess of BPO: shit. It's inconvenient on most nights except for ones like this, when a clustermate in an opposite time zone is in need. Even if the clustermate won't admit it.

“You're doing the right thing,” Will says, taking a long drink of his beer. “You gotta tell your side of the story, let Sanyam know you're not what the internet says. You love Kala. Let him hear that from you.”

Wolfgang scoffs, shakes his head. It would be so much easier if he was a “regular” person: A normal family, legitimate work. Respectable. Like a policeman. “Easy for you, cop,” he says, an edge to his voice. Wolfgang takes a long drink from the bottle, makes an exaggerated face of disgust. “ _Scheiß._ Pisswater.”

Will ignores the comment, takes another generous drink. He stares a little tightly at Wolfgang. “Not everyone likes cops, Brother,” he says, falling silent for a moment before he adds: “but it beats being a mob boss.”

Wolfgang’s mouth ticks up reluctantly. He gives a huff, twists the bottle between his fingers as his smirk fades. “What do I tell him?” The question is mostly rhetorical, and Will doesn't answer, just watches quietly. “If I was Kala's father, I wouldn't want her with me, either. A 'mob boss'. While Kala…” his voice fades.

They are back in the taxi, and the sun and the heat hit Will forcefully; he squints out the window, stares at the organized chaos. He says nothing for a moment. “Yeah, Kala _is_ ,” he agrees softly. “But if she was my daughter, it would go a long way to ease my mind knowing you are making an effort to talk to me because you know how important I am to her. An asshole wouldn't care.”

Wolfgang merely raises his eyebrows, throws a mocking look at Will. “Everything they read is true. Worse.” He stares out at the Mumbai traffic. “Much worse.”

“Definitely worse.” Will’s tone holds a hint of amusement, earning a glare. They are back in the kitchen in Chicago.

Wolfgang's not sure what prompted him to call Sanyam right away. He has no plan, no real endgame; just an impulse he acted on to clear the air with Kala's family, particularly her father. He didn't expect Sanyam to want to talk _now,_ while the kitchen is busy with a lunchtime crowd. Wolfgang frowns at his bottle, imagines Felix’s exasperated reaction: This is exactly the kind of impulsive bullshit that Felix was convinced would get them both killed one day.

Will finishes his beer, sets the bottle on the table, and leans back in his seat. “I don't suggest you tell Kala's father the worst of it,” he says. “Don't be an idiot. Admit to what they already know, but stress how much you love Kala. Those Bogdanows on the internet...Those thugs aren't you.”

 _But they are._ The voice in Wolfgang's head is so loud he's surprised Will doesn't hear it. Instead, Will looks at him with earnest blue eyes full of optimism, an expression not dissimilar to Capheus. Wolfgang tries to suppress his almost reflexive sense of disdain. Will shakes his head, knows Wolfgang is unconvinced.

“When Gunnar found out about me - the new person in Riley's life, someone she loves - he was scared for her.” Will looks down at his folded hands, gives a self-deprecating smile. “She was in hiding, on the run with some guy he didn't know. And on top of that, she asked Gunnar to help us, to bring supplies to a whole other country while Riley took care of _me:_ a fugitive, high most of the time, depressed other times. How fucked up was that? But you know what Gunnar told me?” Will pauses, makes sure Wolfgang is paying attention. “He told me that when he finally met me, he knew it was gonna be ok. He _knew._ He loves Riley, and he hasn't seen her this happy in a really long time. And that's all he wants for her. That's all he wants. And that's all Sanyam wants for Kala.”

Wolfgang stares at the bottle he still holds in his hand, swirls the liquid inside as he bites his tongue from retorting the obvious: that Will is a fundamentally good man, solid. You only need to see him once to know that, to believe in Will.

But Wolfgang is not Will.

“Will?” A sleepy Riley shuffles into the kitchen, peers owlishly at Wolfgang. “Wolfgang?”

_“This is it.”_

Wolfgang startles back into the hot taxi, stopped abruptly at a location thousands of miles from an apartment in Chicago. Will isn't with him; neither is Riley.

Wolfgang pays the driver, gets out of the cab, looks around. He stands in front of the open, wrought iron gates that mark the south entrance of a large park. Sanyam suggested this place as being roughly equidistant between his restaurant and Wolfgang's hotel. The park isn't particularly busy by Mumbai standards - it's still the afternoon of a work day - but there are people walking about, some eating their lunches, and a cricket game seems to be going on in the near distance.

Wolfgang looks at his watch. He's almost 10 minutes earlier than the agreed-upon meeting time. He gives a faint huff, looks around for Kala's father before settling to lean against the gate. He deliberately blocks his cluster before they press through his defenses; he ignores a persistent tug from Will. He's done discussing what he should or should not say; he wants to do this on his own.

“Wolfgang?”

Sanyam must have arrived even earlier. Wolfgang turns to find Kala's father already inside the park, walking toward him. Wolfgang moves away from the gate, hand extended. “Sir.”

Sanyam eyes him keenly. They shake hands; Wolfgang gives a nod of acknowledgment: “Thanks for meeting me so soon.”

Sanyam huffs, mouth quirking into a faint smile. “Well,” he admits. “You've been on our minds for some time now. I'm glad you called.”

He gestures for Wolfgang to follow him into the park. They head in the direction of the cricket match.

Wolfgang falls behind out of habit, on guard. He is back far enough that Sanyam turns his head quizzically, amused: “Wolfgang,” he says, gently, “I'm not going to bite you.”

Wolfgang stares blankly, flushes when he realizes what he's doing. He says nothing but takes longer strides to walk beside Sanyam.

As they approach the game, the park opens to reveal an actual pitch under the impressive backdrop of a temple. The players are in street clothes and seem to be university students waiting between classes: backpacks and textbooks line the grass and along the benches that flank one side of the pitch. Sanyam sits down on a vacant bench, Wolfgang sits next to him.

“When you called I knew you must have heard what happened this morning,” says Sanyam. “Daya, I presume?” Wolfgang gives a hesitant nod; Sanyam sighs.“I'm sorry for it, but I'm glad you thought to address this quickly.”

“Yes.” Wolfgang leans back against the bench. He stretches his legs, stares unseeing at the tips of his shoes. “Kala is the most important thing in my life. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for her, to make her happy.” He pauses, self-conscious and annoyed that he sounds clichéd when the truth of that statement sounds smaller than what he really feels. “It means a lot to her that you accept me. You can imagine how she reacted when she heard about this morning.” He meets Sanyam's eyes: “But of course you must want to know if those people Daya found are my family, if any of it is true.”

“Yes. Of course.” Sanyam's face is grave but not unkind. “She means everything to us, too. She's our daughter.”

Wolfgang exhales, turns to watch students outside of the field cheering madly at a hit.

“Hassan Bogdanow,” Wolfgang says quietly, “the man Daya discovered, was my grandfather. He was a criminal in Russia when the army took him to fight in the War. He stayed in Berlin after the war was over, became an even bigger criminal.”

Wolfgang pauses, knows he could stop here, with only vague references; follow Will's advice. But Kala's father watches him keenly, attentive and concerned, and it feels wrong, disingenuous to hide the rest of the truth from Sanyam: “My father was the younger of Hassan's two sons. When unification came, my grandfather and uncle had to fight to keep what they had.” Memories of his grandfather - a big man, more like Anton than Sergei - flicker in Wolfgang's head. “I barely knew my grandfather, but he was always spoken of with reverence and fear. He had a soft spot for my father. But my father was stupid enough to put his ego above the family and got caught breaking into a safe he had no business trying to break into. Because of that, while my father was in prison, my uncle alone reestablished the Bogdanows in the east. My uncle was rewarded very well while my mother and I lived hand-to-mouth.”

Sanyam makes a soft sound, brows furrow, and Wolfgang looks up, surprised by the sign of empathy. “Oh, don't be sorry,” he assures Sanyam. “My father was a drunk. A monster. My mother and I were never more happy than when he was gone, even if it meant more than a few nights with little to eat. At least we had peace.” He shrugs. “We would have been happy to be left alone. We even tried to leave once. But I'm Hassan's grandson, and they wouldn't let us.”

He and his mother had been the source of much embarrassment: a stain on Hassan's vision of the family dynasty. If they could have been swept under a rug, Hassan would have done so. But Wolfgang was a Bogdanow, and he had to be raised as one.

Wolfgang clears his throat, thoughts drifting too far away. “She died, and then there was only me and my father.” He pauses, exhales slowly, mindful of what he says next: “Then my father died, too. I lived with my uncle afterward. I left that house as soon as I could. But I'm a Bogdanow; they owned me. And by then, I was capable of being a monster, too.”

He craves a cigarette from his jacket pocket, in the closet of his hotel room, but shrugs it off. Instead he steals a quick glance at a grim Sanyam.

“Two years ago, they all died: my grandfather, my uncle, my uncle's only son. There is no one left. Just me, the last Bogdanow of Hassan's line.” Wolfgang is defiant, unapologetic. “I have no intention of taking over; no desire to continue my family's legacy. I've made that very clear. The other kings know this, but even though I've made no attempt to claim the east, I need to get rid of it formally to officially get out. And I've done that. I'm doing that.”

Sanyam stares. It's evident he didn't expect the admission, or at least not the blunt delivery.

“I can't believe it's all true,” he says, stunned, disbelieving. He shakes his head, silent for a long moment. “Is that even possible? How does one _get out_ of being a king? What are you ‘getting out’ of?”

Wolfgang gives a faint, humorless smile. “Everything. Whatever you think of when I say ‘organized crime’, that is what I'm getting out of,” he says. “I've negotiated away my family's territory to one of the kings.It will avoid bloodshed.” He doesn't need to explain the politics behind the decision: That with Volker Bohm dead, Fuchs agreed not to challenge Dogan, the king of the south, over Bohm's territory, if Dogan doesn't challenge Fuchs’ acquisition of the East. It is very much a business transaction. For now.

Sanyam processes the information with a frown. “I can't believe I'm sitting here with you, discussing -” his hands sweep expressively. Sanyam gives a frustrated exhale, silent and contemplative, predictably upset, but Wolfgang is relieved to note that at least Sanyam doesn't seem afraid of him. “So you're trying to get out?”

“I _am_ out,” says Wolfgang firmly. “I have things to finish in Berlin, to make sure everything is done, but I am out.” He shakes his head, frowns. “I've never wanted that life. Even before I knew Kala. I've hated everything about it, about my family, for as long as I can remember.”

Sanyam nods, brows furrow as another thought occurs to him: “This talk that you own a locksmith shop with your friend,” he asks. “Is that real? Is that what you do to earn a living?”

“Yes.” Wolfgang's expression is harsh, eyes distant. “My friend Felix and I opened up the shop. It did ok; well enough to pay bills most months.” He doesn't add that on the months it didn't, he and Felix weren't above burglary. “I know you heard about Felix getting shot. Felix is fine.The men responsible aren't around anymore.” He glances quickly at Sanyam, gives a huff at that man's startled expression, clearly understanding the inference. “Berlin is safe now. I still work at the shop with Felix. I inherited money - and other things - when my uncle died. I'm getting rid of it, or at least most of it, as part of my deal to get out.”

They are silent for a long moment. “Kala knows everything?” asks Sanyam. But it's more of a statement than a question; he was quick to grasp the implication of Kala being connected through the psycellium, and he is mindful of it most of the time.

“She knows,” Wolfgang responds. “All of it.”

Sanyam nods, brows drawn. He exhales slowly, is silent again while the students cheer a particularly good play.

Wolfgang watches them, eyes follow the next batter. He's startled by the amount of information he's openly disclosed to Kala's father, wonders what it is about Sanyam that makes one entrust secrets held close to the vest for decades.

Wolfgang feels a light flicker in his head: a gentle push from the cluster - probably Will or Riley- feeling his anxiousness, testing his wall against a visit, but he pushes back firmly. He doesn't feel Kala at all, and he's grateful: If he fucks this up, he doesn't want her to be here when it happens. He doesn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes. 

“I know I don't deserve Kala." The words come of their own volition, quiet, sincere. Wolfgang's eyes are trained firmly on the pitch. “I've tried to walk away, do the right thing. I know she should be with a good person who can make her happy.”

“Like Rajan?” prompts Sanyam.

Wolfgang lets out a huff. “Like Rajan,” he agrees.

He is quiet again for several seconds, reminded of just that morning in the penthouse. Wolfgang takes another breath, continues: “Kala decided to choose me, even knowing the worst of what I am, what I've done. A monster like me...I know everything that she gives up. But for as long as she'll have me, I'll never give her a reason to regret her decision. Never.”

A short argument breaks out on the pitch over whether an out was had. Wolfgang's eyes watch the animated players dispassionately, thoughts far removed from the match.

Sanyam gives a sigh: “I expect your life has seen much violence, even apart from the struggle with that company that tried to hunt your kind.”

“Yes,” says Wolfgang softly. “Even before BPO, there was violence.”

Sanyam nods, expecting that. “And you yourself, you've had to commit some violence, apart from BPO?”

Wolfgang stills. “Yes.”

Sanyam looks tired. He is silent, eyes watch the cricket match and the good natured taunting of the current bowler. He gives a deep sigh. “Why do you tell me all of this?” he asks at last.

Wolfgang gives a shrug, deceptively indifferent. “Because you should know,” he says quietly.

Sanyam’s eyes turn back to Wolfgang. He studies the face turned partly away from him, at the resolute profile staring intently at the game, a tightness around the sharp jawline. Sanyam releases a faint huff, shakes his head.

“Kala told us that you have had a cruel life, and you did what you did to survive.” He pauses, considers his words. “She told us that you've always believed yourself to be a monster because of these things. Just like your father. And just like his father. Until this moment, I'm not sure I understood what she meant. But I can hear it in your voice. That _hate_ of everything to do with your family. And I wonder what they did to deserve it; what _you_ did that you think you deserve it.”

Wolfgang tenses, hands clench, eyes forward. There are many things that he regrets doing, but he isn't sorry for killing his father or his uncle or even Steiner. He doesn't doubt that the world is a better place without them and their brutality; that Kala and Felix are safe because Sergei and Steiner are gone. If his failure to feel remorse for those acts makes him a monster, then he's long since accepted the label.

Sanyam sits back against the bench. “I don't doubt that you've lived a life of terrible violence, even apart from the fight against BPO. But despite these things, my daughter believes you are a good man.” He releases a short breath: “Gods help me,” Sanyam continues softly, “but I believe it too.”

Wolfgang's frown is fierce: surprise, relief, confusion war across his face. He turns his head, stares at Sanyam. “Why?” he asks sharply, harsher than he'd intended.

Sanyam doesn't respond right away. He shrugs,  eyebrows furrow. “Because you have no reason to tell me all the things you have,” he says at last. “No reason other than your own sense of fairness, of honesty. Despite everything, you have that." He shakes his head, sits back against the bench. “I don't know what I expected you to tell me. That the stories are false? That you have no contact with those men on the internet?” He shakes his head. “Instead, you've said probably more than you wish because you think it only fair that I _know._ ” Sanyam looks shrewdly at Wolfgang before his expression softens. “And you tried to do what's right for Kala. She's told us that, too. And it pains me to admit how obvious it is that you love her, as much as she loves you. For me, these things speak to your character, to what I see, and there is good inside of you, Wolfgang,” he says, inadvertently paraphrasing his daughter's words. “Despite whatever cruelties you endured, or even any cruelties you may have committed, there is still something good inside of you.”

Wolfgang exhales slowly, throat constricting.

He turns his eyes back to the pitch, notices with some surprise that the students are gathering their bags and books and saying goodbye. It takes him a moment to utter a response.

“Thank you,” he says awkwardly, unsure what to say.

Sanyam smiles in understanding. They sit in companionable silence for several minutes before Sanyam gets up from the bench; Wolfgang does as well. “I should get back to the restaurant,” says Sanyam with a sigh. “I've been gone long enough.” He extends his hand, indicates the direction the students go with a tilt of his head: “I'll say goodbye here, since I came through a different gate than you,” he tells Wolfgang. They shake hands: “Shall we try dinner again?”

Wolfgang nods. “Yes,” he says. “That's good.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Wolfgang nods again. “I'll tell Kala.”

Sanyam smiles a little, gives a shrug.“I'll talk to Priya. And Ina.” He makes a face, but his eyes are sympathetic. “Priya will understand, but I can't promise I can keep Ina quiet. No one can keep Ina quiet. You should probably know that about her if being a part of our family is important to you, too.”

Wolfgang's face flushes. He smiles back, wonders if he looks as pleased as he suspects. From the answering smile on Sanyam's face, he knows he does.

…

Kala is already back in the hotel by the time Wolfgang returns. She looks up from the chair, papers on her lap, distracted; but her eyes soften when she sees him.  

“I was just about to look for you,” she says. “I thought you ate lunch without me!”

Wolfgang raises his eyebrows: He'd been so engrossed in thought he'd forgotten they hadn't even eaten yet, skipping breakfast and now lunch. “No,” he says with a smirk as he approaches Kala. “I wouldn't eat lunch without you.” She watches him fondly as he straddles his arms over her chair, bracing one hand on the back and another on an arm as he leans in to kiss her.

She smiles against his mouth, gives a soft hum of approval when he slips his tongue between her lips and deepens the kiss. Her hand wraps around his neck, fingers score his nape, and Wolfgang moans low.

“Come to bed,” he murmurs roughly, moving a hand to her waist.

Kala touches her forehead to his, breath ragged, but she laughs a little, palm slides to stroke his cheek. “You're not hungry at all?” she asks wistfully.

“Not for food,” he says with just enough mischievousness that she laughs again.  

Wolfgang dips his head to resume kissing her, but Kala puts a staying hand on his chest, eyes bright. “Before you convince me that food is unnecessary and we don't  _ever_ need it,” she says, in a voice that implies she halfway believes it already, “I have something to show you.”

Kala picks up the papers on her lap and moves to the chaise in front of the window. She sits rather than lies on it, making room for Wolfgang beside her. He obliges, eyebrows raised curiously.

“These are what I picked up from Ambra.” Kala hands him the top papers, stapled neatly together. He looks them over: spreadsheets from quality control, accounting entries. Shipping dates. He looks sharply at Kala. She stares back, wide-eyed and innocent, and his face dawns with the same profoundly impressed expression he had when they were squatting behind a car in a garage in Seoul.

“ _Süße,_ ” he asks her evenly, “are these the papers that show Rasal Pharmaceuticals was selling expired meds to other countries?”

She smiles widely. “Yes,” she says.

“And are you thinking of _blackmailing_ Rasal to get back the rights to your research and maybe smooth through the divorce?”

Kala's smile falters a little. "Blackmail?" she repeats, mildly offended. “ _Leverage,_ ” she says primly.

Wolfgang grins, then laughs outright. " _Süße_ ," he sighs.

He drops the papers to the floor, reaches for Kala, and kisses her fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and for continuing to read! <3
> 
> Many thanks to KinoGlowWorm for beta duty over the convo between Wolfgang and Sanyam: Hopefully it's not monologue-y even after MORE editing because I couldn't help it.


	9. Rajan

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wolfgang frowns pensively at Kala, brows drawn across his forehead. He shifts against the doorframe, eyes steely as he watches her comb out her hair and tame it into a neat ponytail.

“I'll be fine.” Kala takes a breath, glances at Wolfgang's reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“This might not be the best idea.” Sun frowns back, arms folded and standing next to Wolfgang. “It's best to let the lawyers handle this. Let them fight about it.”

“Let me try it this way first.” Kala turns around. Her gaze glides past five pairs of eyes before resting on Wolfgang. “I'm going to give him a chance. You heard Magda.”

A muscle ticks in Wolfgang's jaw. Will sighs as his eyes catch Wolfgang's. “This could do it,” he agrees quietly. “Rasal is not going to want this to become public. Especially since he's running for office.”

“No.” Kala's face is grim, determined. “He won't.”

“Rajan will know how to approach his father. It's best this way. We should give him this chance.” Riley shifts a little beside Will, nods at Kala reassuringly: “He helped us out when we needed him; gave us somewhere safe to stay.”

“Yes.” Lito looks around at the others, noting their varied expressions. “He accepted us without question. That's something.”

“It was the least he could do. Considering.” Sun's face is shuttered. “I still think we should just give the info to Magda, let her handle this. She'll know what to do with it.”

There's an uneasy rumble in the others, a murmur of disagreement since being confronted with the extent of Rasal Pharmaceuticals’ wrongdoing. They'd been excited earlier as they poured over the papers Kala recovered just that afternoon. 

“What if he tells his father, and Rasal just destroys the records? Takes what you have and just gets rid of the rest?” Wolfgang is frustrated by the obvious solution for Manendra Rasal. “He can fix the books so it looks like you have bad information.”

"I've already got Bug trying to hack into the company, download more records, maybe pull up more info." Nomi looks exhausted: It's five in the morning in San Francisco. "Rasal can't control the buyers' records. All we have to do is identify a few more shipments: what, when, where. But we gotta work quick before the company purges what they have."

“You really think they'll do that?” Kala's eyes are wide with disbelief, her hand fidgets with the thin bracelet around one wrist. “That they will turn around and destroy records as soon as they know _we_ know? Or deliberately falsify them? They would never do that. Rajan would never -”

“Maybe Rajan wouldn't, but desperate times,” huffs Nomi. She holds two mugs of coffee, and they flash into Bug’s houseboat, where Nomi went as soon as she heard the news about the records; Bug’s equipment is more sophisticated than anything she currently owns. Nomi ticks an eyebrow up at Kala. “And his father is running for office. At the request of the Prime Minister.”

“Are the others here? Hey, Squad.” Bug looks around, smiling widely in the general direction of the Cluster. He is bleary-eyed but intent, sitting in front of a new laptop. “Oooh! For _moi_?” He accepts the coffee Nomi brought for him from the kitchen and takes an appreciative sip before he returns to a prompt on the screen, types in more code. He waits patiently for the next prompt. “Gimme 20 minutes,” he says confidently. “This isn't gonna be too bad.”

“Thanks Bug.” Nomi sits in the chair next to him while the others crowd around curiously, watching the screen flash unintelligible script.

Bug takes a deep breath and sighs, shakes his head gently. “I can't believe I thought he was a genuinely nice guy,” he murmurs.

Kala opens her mouth reflexively to protest, to say that Rajan really _is_ a nice guy, but the words die on her lips as the others stare back. Kala swallows hard at the lump in her throat. She can't defend what the company did, and the more she thinks, the harder she finds it to defend Rajan. But she owes him a chance to resolve things before she goes to Magda.

It doesn't go unnoticed by anyone that Capheus is not with them.

...

The Italian restaurant is not far from the penthouse. Before the divorce, they ate there often, even though the food is not equal to the real thing. Rajan had suggested it when Kala called, asking to meet alone. He offered to leave the office earlier than usual to have dinner with her, although some of his enthusiasm seemed to wane when she made it clear it was to discuss the divorce.

Rajan sits in a private booth at the back of the restaurant. He waves to Kala from his seat as she approaches. Kala takes a steadying breath and gives him a fleeting smile as she sits down across from him, evades the kiss he leans forward to place on her cheek. His brows meet in confusion, and Kala shakes her head slowly, folds her hands on the table.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, concerned. Despite the impasse over the rights to Kala's work, they'd been friendly still, albeit awkwardly so at times. The trouble had always been with Rajan's father, and she'd been mindful of that distinction, careful not to let her frustration taint the civility she shares with her husband.

Kala takes another breath, surprised that this is more difficult than she'd thought. She reminds herself that Rajan is on her side; that he wants this divorce too, and he more than believes that her research belongs to her, to a sensate.

Kala deliberately thinks of Paris, of Rajan as an ally, not an adversary, and some of her tension eases. “No, nothing is wrong, Rajan” she says evenly. “In fact, we found a way to convince your father to release the sensate research to me.”

“Oh?” His brows arch, surprised, but he holds a hand up before Kala can explain, smiles politely at someone just over her shoulder. A server steps forward with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Kala catches her bottom lip, frowns impatiently as the server pours a drink for her and then Rajan.

“I thought I'd order a bottle since we've not had dinner together in a while.” Rajan looks at her apologetically, mindful of the expression on Kala's face. “Are you hungry? Should we order now?”

Kala hesitates: Before calling Rajan, she'd finally eaten with Wolfgang in the privacy of their room. But she knows Rajan won't eat alone, even if he's hungry, and she'd agreed to the restaurant. “House salad, please,” she says.

Rajan blinks at her and sighs, eyes sliding wistfully over the menu before he gives it to the server. “Same for me, as well,” he adds.

The server nods, disappears into the dimness of the restaurant with the menus. Rajan lifts his wine glass, tips it slightly to Kala. “I'm glad we can still meet like this,” he says. He waits for her to raise her glass as well and toast before he takes a drink, but he smiles wryly when he sees that Kala barely tastes hers.

“Well you're clearly distracted,” he murmurs. The fingers of his left hand settle on the stem of his wine glass, and Kala stares, startled at the simple gold wedding band. He'd taken it off before he left Paris, and in the two times she's seen him since then, she'd never noticed him wear it.

But now the candlelight catches the sheen of his ring, and Kala looks at Rajan, disconcerted. “Why are you wearing your ring again?” she asks.

He shrugs, twists his glass around by its stem. “I don't want any more gossip,” he says. “The divorce isn't filed yet. This is easier.”

“Even though I no longer work at the company?” Kala frowns, knowing how quickly the rumors would have spread once she didn't return to work.

“Yes.”

Rajan looks up at her, and Kala's eyes widen, cheeks flush. “Rajan.” Her voice is weary. “Rajan what difference does it make? This divorce is going forward.”

He nods. “I know.” But he looks at her with wide, dark eyes, and Kala feels the old guilt tug at her, but tempered now by her own certainty. She knows her mind. She knows her heart.

And then a thought, an idea, latches in her head. She feels her face grow red, her thoughts race.

“ _Focus._ ” Lito sits next to her, holds her hand. “Don't be distracted. We rehearsed this.”

And they had, in the hotel before she left, in the cab on the way to the restaurant: Lito had given her scenarios and lines and eased her nerves at essentially suggesting to Rajan that they blackmail his father. Lito squeezes her hand; Kala squeezes back, reassures him that she can do this before she breaks their connection. “Never mind,” she murmurs to Rajan, deliberately shunting her thoughts aside. She takes a breath: “Rajan, I found the records.”

Rajan frowns, his expression confused. “The records?”

“Yes.” Kala leans in, adds quietly, urgently: “The shipping reports, the manifests, the documents approved by the controller. Everything I brought to your attention: the information that shows the company was selling expired drugs. I thought those printouts were gone forever, but I found them.”

Rajan sits back, surprised and a little defensive. “But we no longer do so,” he says. “My God, Kala, I told you we would stop doing that, and we did.”

“But you didn't before then.” Kala's voice is sharp in the soft quiet of the restaurant. “What the company did was wrong, we both know it. But it wasn't a matter of just moral obligation, or even bad business practice, Rajan: It might have been criminal.” Her heart races at the words. Even in the dim light, she can tell Rajan pales.

“Rajan,” she continues calmly, although her fingers move restlessly around her wine glass: “I spoke to my lawyer this afternoon. I told her I recovered documents that I thought we could use as - as _leverage_ \- to get back the research and move everything forward. But before I could tell her exactly what it was, she interrupted me,” Kala pauses, recalling Magda's cautious, carefully worded interjection: “She said before I tell her anything, I need to think carefully. She said if it's serious, she might have to report what I found.”

Rajan's eyes widen. “What?” He shakes his head, frowns deeply. “I don't like this. What do you mean by that?”

Kala gives a soft exhale. Nomi had been the one to suggest asking Magda questions in hypotheticals to avoid whatever issues or concerns Magda might have: _What if_ this happened? Instead of _this happened._

“I mean,” Kala says, “my lawyer owes no duty of confidence to Rasal Pharmaceuticals, but she owes one to me. If the company committed a crime, it's possible that I'm not in a position to simply keep the information to myself; I might be told that I need to come forward and report it to the authorities or risk being accused of covering it up.” Kala can almost hear Lito coaching as she continues over the frozen expression on Rajan's face: “Even if it's not a crime, revealing that the company deliberately sold expired meds will cause problems for the company, particularly overseas, in the places where the drugs were sold: investigations to determine the extent of the fraud, and if anyone was harmed. And think of what that would mean for your father, Rajan.” She gives Rajan a moment to consider her words - inflating Magda's caution, perhaps, but mostly accurate - and his face reflects a growing horror.

He shakes his head sharply, dazed. “You can't do that, Kala,” he says.

“Rajan, I have no choice.” Kala's eyes gleam in the candlelight. “I need my work back. We can't risk what your father will do with it: The discovery  of our existence, about sensates, is so new… it's important that what's known isn't exploited; that the company not have absolute control over research and information taken from sensates murdered by BPO. I don't trust your father. Not after learning about the expired drugs.”

Rajan shakes his head even more vigorously. “You can't tell him,” he murmurs, staring darkly at his wine.

“I was hoping _you_ would.” Kala watches Rajan place his hands on the table, fingers bracket the base of the wine glass. “You can reason with him; I feel sure he will want to cooperate,” she says.

Rajan is silent for several minutes. He fails to acknowledge the server arriving with their salads; pushes his plate aside, no longer hungry. He is silent even after the server leaves.

“Rajan.” Kala  pauses. She reaches to cover one of his hands with her own, squeeze it gently in empathy. “I'm sorry this is the way it must happen, but your father makes it clear he's not interested in negotiating fairly. So we won't, either.” She bites her bottom lip, pauses for a moment before she pats Rajan's arm awkwardly. Dinner is the farthest thing from both of their minds, and she should never have agreed to it under the circumstances. "Think about it, " she says softly. "But we hope you reason with your father first." Kala shifts to leave the booth, but Rajan's hand darts out to recapture hers.

“Kala.” Rajan's voice is low, insistent. “I can't tell my father. Don't do this.”

Kala pauses, frowns slightly as she tries to remove her hand from Rajan's grip, but he holds firm. “Rajan, we've tried to negotiate,” she tells him. “He won't agree to anything. This is the only way.”

“Kala.” Rajan swallows hard, eyes large and frantic. “Kala my father doesn't know about the expired drugs. That was my idea. Mine.”

There is a ringing in her ears that seems to make her vision blur for the slightest moment; that hits her so intensely that she watches, dazed, as Capheus shares her body long enough to throw a quick, angry punch at Rajan that lands on his left eye. Kala is back in her body almost before Rajan releases her, groaning in pain at the unexpected blow. 

Kala's eyes dart from Rajan to Capheus, sitting where Lito had been not long before. She feels the rage and frustration that radiates from her normally placid Clustermate, and it fills her with its intensity. He stares, brooding and accusatory, at Rajan.

Rajan dips his napkin into a glass of ice water and presses it against his eye. Doubtless it will turn into a vicious bruise, but Kala can't bring herself to apologize.

“It was _your_ idea?” she repeats quietly. Her voice trembles with shock. “I _believed_ you when you told me you thought it was standard procedure. I thought you didn't understand the seriousness of it because you were _raised_ to believe it's acceptable practice - normal, even. But it was your idea this entire time. _You_ put it into practice.”

“Kala.” Rajan's sigh is weary, resigned.

“And you knew it was wrong.” Her fingers ball into fists on top of the table. “You didn't need me to tell you that.”

“Kala.” Rajan's harsh tone cuts through her fury. Even in the muted lighting he can see her face flushed with outrage, and he softens a little, puts the napkin down. “Who was it that punched me?” he asks. “I don't think that was you. Was it Wolfgang?”

Kala stares icily.

“Will?”

“Go ahead.” Capheus glares back, arms folded across his chest. “Tell him.”

“Capheus. It was Capheus,” she says. She feels a surge of helplessness: memories of Shiro, frail and gaunt, unresponsive to medicines that were probably already watered-down versions of expired drugs.

Rajan nods knowingly, quiet for just a moment. “I suppose I deserved that,” he murmurs. He sighs again when Kala says nothing. He looks down at his glass of wine, takes a long drink that finishes it. He pauses to consider his words.

“When I came into the business, part of my job was to find inefficiencies: cull the wheat from the chaff, as they say. The company had so many practices that ate into the profit margin: Do you know how much the company spent each year in storage alone?” He scoffs at the expression on Kala's face, shrugs defensively. “The meds we shipped may have been a little outdated, but they were still good meds,” he says, insistent. “We discounted them, and they went to places that otherwise couldn't afford them. But I stopped that. I stopped it the moment I made a promise to you that I would do so. And I did.”

Kala gasps with fury; she can no longer tell how much belongs to her and how much belongs to Capheus. “We don't sell _aspirin_ , Rajan,” she hisses scathingly. She takes a breath, tries to regain composure: “We sell specialized antibiotics, drugs to treat HIV, medicines on the cutting edge of oncology for all sorts of cancer. The _slightest_ variation in dosage, in the effectiveness of each drug, can mean the difference between pain or suffering, remission or recurrence. Not to mention some of those drugs are _discontinued._  The HIV inhibitor...Do you not recall? That one was found to cause adverse reaction in some patients. But it was there, in our systems, as sold to distributors overseas. And it's because of  _you."_

He says nothing for a moment. “I can't let you disclose what the company has done,” he tells her quietly. He takes a breath. “Kala, I will tell my father that you're a sensate, and the others too. And you know what will happen then.”

For a moment, the ringing in her ears returns. And then she feels her heart steady, the fury turning into resolve.

“Do it, Rajan,” she says. “All that will cause us is some inconvenience, even some notoriety. But your company, your family, will be subjected to investigation, maybe criminal charges. Rasal Pharmaceuticals will not survive that. And your father will know that it's because of decisions you'd made; decisions he didn't even know about.”

Rajan stares back, left eye already swollen.

“Give me back my sensate data, my work, the rights to all of it. I'll expect an answer in the next day or two.”

Kala moves to leave again, and this time Rajan does not reach for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of venting, here: There were certain scenes in Season 2 and in the special that I just couldn't get behind, including Capheus' reaction to the expired drugs and his first meeting with Rajan. If my mother had been sick for months because the drugs I used to treat her were expired - and deliberately sold that way because who cares about those other people - I would have reacted to Rajan the way Capheus does here. At a minimum. Guaranteed. 
> 
> Anyway...  
> THANK YOU to the awesome Kinoglowworm for beta duty even though she's got a lot on her own plate. <3333  
> And thank you all for your patience!!!


	10. A Good Man

Kala sits in silence in the taxi that takes her back to the hotel. She regrets she chose not to drive to the restaurant; she wishes she had the freedom to simply drive around, settle herself before facing the Cluster. Facing _Wolfgang._

She is deeply ashamed. And furious. _So furious._

She huffs her frustration, stares blindly out the window.

She feels the hum of energy that flows through the psycellium, keenly aware of the others and what they do: Sun, with Nomi and Bug, combing through illicitly-obtained financial statements and shipping records and invoices. Riley, with Lito and Capheus, explaining everything that's happened to Bodhi and Mr. Hoy, detailing the plan to gain control over the sensate research and the outcome of Kala's meeting. There is less contact from Will as he gets ready to go to work; a gentle tug from Wolfgang as he waits for her return. But there is a collective weight at the thought that Rajan could publicly expose their identities, undo the normalcy that they'd returned to, make them - and their families- vulnerable to the next threat.

And she is responsible for this.

Kala catches her bottom lip, brows furrowed. She relives the conversation with Rajan, loops the moment he admits it was his idea to forge expiration dates, and she feels sick with guilt and worry. Rather than trying to work through the revelation, she'd lost her temper and issued Rajan an ultimatum, blinded by hurt surprise. And she'd done it in part because of something that she'd suddenly suspected; something that had teetered at the edge of her consciousness until now.

Kala fidgets restlessly with the bracelet on her wrist as the cab slows for traffic.

And for the first time in ages, she is somewhere she hasn't actively tried to be.

It is daytime and bright in the kitchen in Chicago. Will glances at her in surprise as he pours a pot of coffee into a stainless steel thermos. He's already in uniform, a piece of toast in his mouth: Kala can taste the grape jelly that he prefers instead of butter. She smiles a little at the unfamiliar flavor and he smiles back, seals the thermos, takes a bite of the toast before taking it out of his mouth long enough to give a friendly: “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says back, suddenly self-conscious. Although Will must have been up early to visit in Mumbai, he doesn't look particularly tired. Her eyes drift to look around. “Where is everyone?”

She steps aside to let Will pass into the next room, where the rest of his things lie on top of a desk. He eats the last bit of bread as he puts on his Kevlar vest, adjusts it so his uniform isn't twisted underneath.

“Riles is in the bedroom...but _not_ in the bedroom,” he says meaningfully. “Gunnar is still asleep in his room.” Kala watches as Will grabs his duty belt and checks his gear before tucking them in place: pepper spray, handcuffs, flashlight. Gun. He finishes and she looks up at him, meets his curious stare. “What's wrong?” he asks kindly. “ _Besides_ what went down at dinner with Rajan? You're not here on a social visit.”

She hesitates, but he shakes his head, sits down on the edge of his desk. “I've got time,” he assures her. “I've got court at 10: I just figured I'm already up, might as well go to the station first.”

“Why didn't you go with Riley?” she asks.

Will shrugs. “Riles will let me know if there's anything more to think about, but seriously, despite what happened, I think we're still good.”

“You do?” Kala's eyes widen in surprise. She sits down on the other side of the desk to face him, fingers lacing and unlacing. “How? We have nothing on Manendra: Rajan won't admit what he did to his father. Plus,” she wilts a little, “Rajan knows who we are. He can identify us. Who knows what will happen then.”

Will shakes his head. “Rajan won't do that,” he says. “You were right about his company having more at stake. Regardless of who gave the order, the company deliberately sold expired drugs. Let's ignore whether what they did was criminal: If this gets out, who's ever going to trust buying from Rasal Pharma again? Rajan's going to have to tell his father; they're going to give in. Manendra isn't sacrificing everything for the rights to your work.”

She nods, slightly reassured. “Yes.”

“Besides, I don't think Rajan will reveal who we are.” Will watches her kindly. “I don't think he'll ever do anything to hurt you.” Kala involuntarily stiffens under his gaze, and Will lets out a breath. “Yikes. Is that why you're here?” he asks.

Kala stares back, eyes dark. She shakes her head slowly, exhales. “No, not really,” she demurs: “I'm not sure why. I don't even wish to talk about it.” Will's expression grows gentle, and her shoulders sag. “I feel foolish.”

“Nah, don't.” He puts his hand over hers, squeezes lightly. It feels warm and reassuring and Kala finds herself inexplicably tearing.

She swipes impatiently across her eyes with her other hand: “Have I been manipulated this entire time?” she asks baldly. Will stares back, surprised, and Kala finds herself tripping over thoughts that had rushed back once she'd left the restaurant: “He was wearing his ring,” she says, “and he told me it was to stop the gossip when I _know_ Rajan doesn't care what other people say. And he looked at me, and I could _feel_ myself feeling bad for him. And then I felt upset because I realized it's like _that_. It's _always_ like that. And then I thought, what if he knows? What if he does that on purpose, and all this time, it wasn't just me, but _him_?”

Will shakes his head, bemused by the unexpected rant. “Kala,” he says carefully. “I'm not sure I follow. You think Rajan wore his ring to manipulate you?”

“Yes... No?” Kala frowns sharply, her earlier thoughts rushing back in a singular wave. “Because what if it wasn't _just_ this time, but from the beginning?”

She gives a huff, aware that she's speaking a stream-of-conscious normally reserved for Wolfgang. “When we met,” she says evenly, “Rajan was interested in me. Of all the women at work that wanted his attention, he pursued _me_. Except I wasn't interested, and so he sent all of those flowers -- covered the lab in them -- in a public gesture that everyone thought was so romantic. And what could I do? I couldn't say no; I would look ungrateful, and he was my employer's son, and he would be embarrassed.”

She shuts her eyes briefly and misses the sharp frown that crosses Will's face. “And do you know, he brought his proposal to my parents? He understood how traditional they are -- he didn't even mind that Auntie Ina accompanied us on some of our dates. But Rajan and I never even _discussed_ getting married. And my parents were more happy receiving his proposal than they were about my graduation from university.”

Kala is silent, mouth ticking into a humorless smile as she recalls her father dancing around the house: “When Rajan wants something, he is single-minded, and he wanted me. And the thing is,” she continues, “he wanted me despite his father's disapproval, maybe a little even because of it. But by the time Rajan admitted that, I knew he loved me, and he'd defied his father to marry me, and I couldn't end the engagement without hurting him. His father was in the hospital, and I thought Rajan had been through enough. And I had doubts, but no _logical_ reason to end the engagement: Everyone was so happy. I kept telling myself that Rajan is a good man. He'll be a good husband.”

She pauses and looks at Will, his expression attentive.

“When Manendra was in the hospital, Rajan's mother and I prayed for his recovery, even though we knew Manendra didn't believe in Ganesha or any of the gods; that he was attacked because he tried to shut down the temple, even though his own wife is a believer. And do you know what Rajan's mother told me, as we prayed together in the hospital?”

Will shakes his head.

Kala exhales, stares at Will's hand, covering her own. “She told me… ‘He's a good man.’ ”

Will stills for the merest moment; says nothing although Kala can sense his dawning understanding.

Had Rajan known she couldn't bring herself to hurt him, or disappoint her parents? She'd felt pressured to date him; pressured to accept his marriage proposal. And while she'd railed at him on their honeymoon for calling her mother to discuss her virginity, she was horrified when she'd come back to the villa and found their bags packed. Rajan made it clear he was ready to end their marriage if she still had doubts; he had somehow made it seem like her choice. But the truth was that she _couldn't_ return as a virgin, not after he'd aired that particular grievance, because everyone would know she had failed him, that something was wrong with her. And so she'd soothed him, told him they shouldn't make any hasty decisions, and to let her decide what happened that night. And she'd slept with him. 

Had Rajan worn his ring tonight to convince her to change her mind about the divorce? to make her feel sorry for leaving him?

“For what it's worth,” says Will quietly, “Rajan shouldn't have pursued you the way he did, especially since you were an employee. But,” he adds, “I'm not sure that any of his actions were done deliberately to guilt you into being with him. That doesn't sound like Rajan.”

“No?” Kala muses. “There is a side to Rajan that I've not seen: the side that decided selling expired drugs to poorer places is a good idea, that justifies it as somehow helpful because they couldn't otherwise afford them.”

She thinks of the night she overheard him shouting on the phone. She'd never heard him speak so roughly, or be so angry. She thinks about the time he'd come home hurt, and Lito had casually stated that Rajan was lying to her about how he got injured. She'd wondered about Rajan's connection to Ajay, and the reason why she was to go to Paris in the first place: things that Rajan never bothered to explain even after she confessed being a sensate, even after the madness of BPO.

Rajan deflected her questions by telling her she didn't need to concern herself. “Did I just make excuses for Rajan, even when there were things in front of me that I should have seen? Things that I ignored?” she asks quietly. “A good man wouldn't have allowed, let alone ordered, the sale of expired drugs. A good man wouldn't have needed someone else to point out how _wrong_ it is. And Rajan must have known this or surely he would have told his father how he managed to increase profits with no quantifiable changes on the books.”

Will nods slightly, unsure what to say. “That doesn't mean Rajan isn't good at all. He still stopped when you asked him, still helped us in Paris,” he says. He pauses, adds: “Wolfgang isn't exactly a saint, and we all see that there's good in him, too.”

Kala stares wide-eyed at Will. “Oh no,” she says emphatically, shaking her head. “It's not the same. It's _not_. Wolfgang was raised in violence, he's acted to survive, to protect the ones he loves.” She gets up, paces, agitated: “And despite his upbringing, he's not motivated by greed or power. If he was, he wouldn't be giving up Berlin. Wolfgang doesn't need me to tell him the right thing to do.”

In the cab in Mumbai, she nears the hotel, and Kala sighs deeply.

“I don't know why I think of these things now, except talking to Rajan tonight made me remember the doubts I had, even before Wolfgang. I resented so many things and didn't admit it, even to myself, because I believed he is a good man, and he deserved a good wife. Every decision I've made until Paris was made so I wouldn't hurt him, or disappoint my parents. It didn't matter that ultimately it hurt _me_.”

In an apartment in Chicago, Will gets up from the desk, walks to face Kala. “It can be pretty damn exhausting living a life trying to meet other people's expectations, make them happy.” He studies her face, smiles gently. “But eventually you did the right thing: you chose what makes you happy.”

…

Wolfgang stands uncertainly at the door, watches carefully as Kala approaches.

She looks up at him with silent, tired eyes, and he draws her inside, holds her tightly in wordless comfort, and for once there's no awkwardness in the gesture, as unused as he is to moments like this, when all she wants is the assurance of his steadfast presence.

“Come on,” he murmurs, drawing away enough to steer her further into the room. “We can talk about this tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”

“I'm not sure I can sleep,” she says quietly. Wolfgang's eyes narrow, and in a single, fluid motion, he lifts her into his arms and moves purposefully towards the bed. Kala gives a startled gasp but doesn't protest, her hands sliding around his neck. She melts into his chest, suddenly exhausted. She lets him remove her shoes and socks; lifts her hips and shrugs her arms so he can take off her skirt, then blouse. He pauses and strips away her undergarments after her faint, small nod. He even unclasps her bracelet, releases her hair from the ponytail and combs his fingers through the thick waves before he settles her beneath the sheets. Wolfgang takes off his own clothes before he joins her in bed, gathers her to him so her back is against his chest, plants a soft kiss on her shoulder.

She knows he wants to ask why she shied away from his visit earlier, but he doesn't, sure that she'll tell him - or maybe not - when she's ready. She's grateful they respect each other's space.

“I can't believe everything that's happened today,” she says softly. Kala pauses to reflect exactly _how_ much: That this morning started off with welcome news that the penthouse has finally sold, and this evening with the bitter revelation that her husband may not be the good man she'd always believed him to be. She stares unseeing at the framed photo of the “Queen's Necklace” hanging on the wall that she faces. It is a view from the hotel, in this room, outside of their window.

“I really thought his father was to blame,” she says sleepily, apropos of nothing. Wolfgang kisses the top of Kala's head; his hand coasts along her side, soothing and undemanding. He is silent, waiting for her to sort her conflicting emotions.

“When I think of the people he may have harmed, I'm horrified and ashamed for us - myself and the company and Rajan. What if people have died because of our medicine? How is that not murder?”

Wolfgang tenses slightly. “It's not,” he says. He pauses as if to add something, but changes his mind: “It's not the same thing.”

“It is.” Kala closes her eyes briefly, the intensity of her anger dissipated, but the sting of Rajan's betrayal burning still: “It's worse,” she says, “because it was a calculated decision to harm countless suffering people to make money.”

Wolfgang is silent. If he disagrees he doesn't articulate it; instead, he hugs her gently, watches as she shifts around to look up at him, her eyes dark, troubled. “And I excused it because I thought it hadn't been his decision; because I believed he told me the truth that it was standard procedure, and I was only making him see that it wasn't fair.” Kala makes a scoffing sound, brows drawn.

Wolfgang's hand moves down her spine, fingers press firmly to ease her tense posture. “You didn't know,” he says, his voice certain. “And now you do. Now we all do. We'll deal with it.”

Kala catches her bottom lip, huffs softly.  “I'm sorry,” she murmurs. “I'm so disappointed in him, in what our relationship was. I'm doubting so much about..."

She stops suddenly, eyes large as she meets Wolfgang's steady blue gaze.

She had felt shaken, upset to think she'd been so mistaken about the man she'd married. But what does it matter? What difference does it make to her now to wonder whether Rajan had manipulated her or not?

In the end, she'd found the courage to follow her heart, to find her way, and it led to this man.

And Kala lets go. Thoughts about Rajan and whatever their relationship had been melt away.

She sighs softly, presses her forehead against Wolfgang's lips for a kiss which he gives with a quizzical expression. Kala smiles. “Never mind," she says. "Let's get back to doing things just for us tomorrow." Her hand slides to wrap around Wolfgang's waist. “A picnic? Or dinner? Somewhere lovely and romantic.”

“ _Scheiße._ ” Wolfgang shifts a little beside her. “With everything that's happened, I forgot to tell you that I met with your father today. We are having dinner with your family tomorrow.”

Kala's eyes grow larger. “You _what_?” she asks. “When did you talk to him? About what? What did you say?”

“While you went out to get the documents from Ambra this morning.” He pauses, suddenly recalls: “And to sign a lease for an apartment. Did you do it?”

Kala stills, then nods, her face beaming. “I have keys for the both of us,” she says, her excitement returning. Wolfgang moves forward to kiss her but her hand covers his mouth before he can do so. “Tell me first about my father!” she says, trying to focus even as he kisses her fingers, eyes mischievous.

Wolfgang gives an exaggerated sigh, but he smiles, and Kala's heart races.

Wolfgang tells her about meeting with Sanyam in the park: how they talked for maybe an hour about Wolfgang's family; who they were, and Wolfgang's disavowal of that life. She listens, mesmerized, to the way Wolfgang describes Sanyam's response; smiles softly when Wolfgang tells her - surprised and grateful -  that somehow, Sanyam, like she, had concluded that despite everything, there's something good inside of Wolfgang.

He is silent for a moment, as if still in disbelief. 

Kala stares back, eyes bright.

“And then he suggested we have dinner tomorrow; try again,” Wolfgang finishes, smiling faintly. “I can't believe, after everything I told him, he still wants to -”

He gives a startled grunt of surprise at Kala's sudden kiss, fierce and possessive and gentling just as suddenly before she pulls away.

“I love you,” she tells him quietly, giving an inelegant yawn before he can return her kiss.

Wolfgang smiles ruefully. "I love you too," he says, settling for a kiss to her brow. "Go to sleep,  _Suße_."

Kala sighs, tucks her head under his chin, closes her eyes.

She is asleep almost immediately.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever gone this long between updates, so apologies for that: RL (and tediously locating scenes to script-read) has a way of taking up time. Thank you so much for your patience and for continuing to read.


	11. Starting Over

Water always calms him: the sound it makes as he cleaves a path in the pool, the smooth resistance as he pushes forward, the weightlessness of his body as he turns on his back, closes his eyes - floats.

Wolfgang exhales slowly, deliberately. He permits himself to simply enjoy the moment. He's alone this early in the morning: The two hotel pools won't open for another two hours, but it was easy enough to slip into the less popular indoor pool.

Kala was asleep when he decided to go for a swim, his mind too restless after everything that's happened: Despite his logic, a part of him worries that the Rasals - Manendra, Rajan, _both_ \- can still fuck things up for everyone; can still fuck things up for Kala and for him.

Wolfgang reaches the other end of the pool and flips abruptly to his front; pushes forward in quick, long strokes more suited for a race than a relaxing lap.

He had been surprised by Kala's suggestion to use the outdated drugs as leverage in the negotiations, unconvinced that it will work on an ambitious man like Manendra Rasal. Wolfgang knows the type well: wealthy and condescending, attracted to power, full of his own self-importance. Likely not above doing whatever he deems necessary to protect his business.

That _Rajan_ was responsible for the decision to sell the expired drugs was a shock.

Wolfgang breathes out, pushes faster through the water, muscles straining. It was a shock, but it was followed by petty relief: Rajan Rasal is _not_ perfect,not immune to the same temptations as Sergei and Hassan and even Anton. Wolfgang almost wants to laugh at the irony. The drive to succeed, to squeeze every bit of profit without thought to consequences: a business-self kept separate from the private - as if that's possible, when they're just two sides of the same coin. Wolfgang knows these people; he understands them. And suddenly, he can make some sense of Rajan.

Wolfgang reaches the other end of the pool and flips onto his back again, arms wide, eyes fixed at the sky beyond the glass ceiling, barely hinting at the dawn.

He wonders for the hundredth time if Rajan will tell his father about the drugs, about Kala's threat. From Rajan's reaction, Manendra might actually have disapproved of the practice - something Wolfgang is mildly surprised to consider.

And for the hundredth time, logic tells him that Rajan _will_ tell his father, and that Manendra will not risk the company for research that may later prove worthless. Manendra will give up Kala's work. 

But if Rajan tells his father, and Manendra refuses? If the Cluster's identities are released, they will be subject to public scrutiny; their families, maybe even their friends, could be, as well. But it is more than a mere inconvenience, as Kala had told Rajan: it makes all of them vulnerable to those who might have furtively supported the former BPO agenda. Wolfgang has no doubt they still have some enemies. 

He frowns, takes a steadying breath.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't fantasize how much easier things could be if he just hired some people ( _his_ people) to take care of the problem.

A word in the right ear, and Kala could walk away with her work and her freedom, unchallenged; the Cluster, safe. A King would have picked up the phone and gotten rid of a minor inconvenience by now.

He is tempted. Wolfgang still has people that belong to him, that owe their allegiance to the Bogdanows. He can reach out to them, maybe ask Felix to do it for him. Or he can call Fuchs, have Fuchs fix things as a gesture of goodwill. Or he can fix the problem himself.

Wolfgang exhales. He closes his eyes, focuses on the muted sound of the water that runs through his splayed fingers, that buoy his weight as he floats.

Violence is familiar and easy for him. It's always solved his problems expeditiously, even if the jury is still out on its efficacy. He smiles a little, picturing Kala argue the point.

But it has no place in the life he wants for himself; for the life he wants to have with Kala.

Wolfgang sighs deeply. He opens his eyes, blinks in surprise that dawn has arrived so quickly. He takes a deep breath and flips again, swimming swiftly under the water.

He is tired of living in the shadows: hiding in them, cautious of them; a life on the fringe, even if he _rules_ a kingdom of shadows.

He wants a chance to live in the light.

…

Wolfgang returns to the room to find Kala still asleep. He takes a quick shower, gets into bed beside her when he's done.

He's surprised when he wakes up several hours later, the room bathed in soft sunlight. He looks up, slightly disoriented to be alone: The bathroom door is closed, silent for several seconds before he hears the rush of water. Wolfgang groans a little, reaches for his phone to check for any more messages from Fuchs. He sets it aside and gets dressed as he waits for Kala.

When she is done she repeats her determination to make the day solely for them: spend it doing something other than waiting for a phone call from Rajan, or retelling yesterday's events to someone for the benefit of al-Sadaawi. 

Instead, as they eat breakfast in a nearby cafe, she suggests they first see the apartment she leased. “It's my very first flat,” she says, slightly embarrassed by the admission. “It will be good to have my own place, not to move back home, especially if you are here for a bit.” She smiles a little. “I know you'll be there anyway after tonight, but would you like to see the flat now?”

Wolfgang can feel her mixture of anxiousness and excitement just beneath the surface. He returns her smile. “Sure,” he says.

She drives them to a neighborhood of older apartment complexes in the south; a ten-story building not dissimilar from its neighbors, near the sea. She lets them through the entry with a set of keys that makes Wolfgang roll his eyes.

She quirks an eyebrow at him in question.

“Twenty seconds. Tops,” he answers. “Ask Lito.”

“Mmm,” hums Kala, uncertain whether to be amused or alarmed. She shakes her head but fights a smile as she leads them through a clean but outdated lobby to a bank of elevators. Wolfgang's brow ticks up when she pushes the button to the 8th floor, and both brows rise in alarm when the elevator groans loudly before moving.

“ _Scheiße_ ,” he mutters. Kala doesn't bother to stifle her laugh.

When the elevator stops, they get off and walk to one end of a long hall, stop at the last door on the right. Kala unlocks the door and lets them both inside.

The flat is not very large by any standard. The open space they enter doesn't look more than 50 square meters, including the small kitchen and eating area already furnished with a small wooden table and two chairs. There's a small sofa of deep red cloth, a matching chair, a floor lamp. With just the stock furniture, the place is admittedly cozy.

But Wolfgang knows the moment he walks inside why Kala is drawn here: The room is bright with natural light pouring from large windows and a glass door that leads to a balcony. The walls are a cheerful pale yellow, and the floors a worn, light wood. Although bare of personal touches that she will add to make the flat her home, it is warm and inviting and very much her.

Kala walks the perimeter of the space, looks around with a critical eye. “It isn't very big,” she says apologetically, “but the kitchen is almost new, and so is the furniture. I know this is - mmm - _brighter_ than something you would like, but maybe if we repaint, or change a few things-”

Wolfgang watches her gently. He moves to stand in front of her, look down into her anxious face. “ _Suße,_ ” he says, hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “If you like this, why change? This is your place. Do what you like.”

Kala catches her lip against her teeth, gives a huff as she lays her hands against his chest. “I want this to be for me _and_ you,” she says. “I want this to feel like home for you, too.”

“Kala,” he murmurs, moved by her earnestness. He doesn't care where he stays or what it looks like. Home for him has always been just a transient space to lay his head.

But _home_ is important to Kala: sanctuary and fortress, comfort and succor. And she wants to give that to _him._

Wolfgang gives a faint, almost self-deprecating smile, struck by the thought that the hotel room he never wanted feels more like home than his place in Berlin. “Kala,” he murmurs, “if you're here, that's all I care about. _You_ are home.”

She is silent, still for a moment; her expression stricken. Then her deep brown eyes grow wide, liquid: She glows, unabashedly moved. “ _Mere jaan,_ ” she says softly. She cups his face, touches her forehead to his before her arms slide to wrap around his waist. She hugs him tightly, lays her head on his shoulder.

He is bemused why she is overcome by a simple truth. Wolfgang wraps his arms around her, lifts her off her feet. Kala laughs, and when he brings her back down, she merely smiles, face upturned.

They kiss gently: unhurried, soft. He holds her waist, her hands on his hips, steady. They lose themselves in each other.

She shows him the rest of the flat with open eagerness. Wolfgang pays more attention to her than to the things she shows him: her delight in the modest view from the balcony; her wistful sigh at the Very Small Bathroom (just enough space for a shower, toilet, sink); her excitement over a multi-purpose spare room for Felix when he visits, or for her when she finds a new job.

His attention only returns to the flat when they come to the last room: a bedroom with a tall dresser and two single beds with slatted headboards, an arm's length or two apart, separated by a night stand.

Wolfgang's eyes light in amused disbelief. He chuckles, shakes his head. “ _Suße...,_ ” he says gently, walking into the room with open curiosity.

“Oh god,” she says quickly, teeth catching her bottom lip. “I forgot. We need a new bed.” Kala's brows furrow, slightly annoyed, before her expression twitches in humor. “Or we can just push these two together,” she suggests.  

Wolfgang moves closer to examine the identical, low- lying beds with plain yellow sheets, a single pillow on each bed: the kind of bed he would have had as a kid.

He stands at the foot of the nearest bed, presses a hand on top of the mattress. “They wouldn't last the night,” he observes flatly, eyebrows raised. She grins back, face flush, expression arrested.

“Oh?” Kala stands beside him, leans over to push against the mattress. She steals a glance at Wolfgang, folds her arms primly. “I suppose we should test it,” she says gravely. “Just the one bed. For science.”

His eyebrows raise, surprised and immediately intrigued. Wolfgang's mouth ticks into an appreciative smirk. “Now?” he asks.

“Well yes,” she says, wide-eyed. “While your hypothesis is still fresh in your mind.”

Wolfgang nods thoughtfully. “Of course,” he agrees. He turns her to face him, schooling his features to look more serious. “For my hypothesis.” He wraps his arms around her, kisses her temple, down her cheek. “I wouldn't want to forget,” he murmurs against her throat. He tugs her blouse free from her shorts, fingers working nimbly on the buttons.

“Exactly.” Kala smiles as she lets her blouse slide to the ground. “For Science.” Her hands run appreciatively over his abs before she grasps the hem of his shirt. She lifts it almost completely over his head although Wolfgang pulls it off the rest of the way.

He inhales sharply when she places her hands on his bare chest. She sweeps along the plane of his torso, thumbs gently over the indentations. She pauses. He can feel a subtle change in her, not quite so playful. He brushes a curl from her forehead.

“What's wrong, _Suße_?” he asks.

She shakes her head, fingers trace the faint scars that mark his pecs, along his abs. “Sometimes,” she says quietly, “I realize how close we were to losing each other. And I thank Ganesha that we have another chance.” She smiles up at him, and his heart stops at the expression on her face, vulnerable and soft and more than anything he deserves. “I love you, Wolfgang.”

He holds her tightly, presses a kiss against her hair. “I love you, too, _Suße_ ,” he says, overwhelmed by her, aware that he should be the one paying homage to her deity. “I almost lost you, too,” he whispers. She nods. His mind touches on the past and shies away, unwilling to say more.

So much could have gone wrong. So many things conspired against them and still do. Yet here they are, together in an apartment in Mumbai, and he thinks  for the millionth time, since the day he knew Kala really wanted him, that he doesn't give a shit about anything else.

He buries his hand at the nape of her neck, his fingers swallowed by thick, dark curls, and tilts her head up to kiss her. He is rougher than he intended, but Kala doesn't protest, sighing her approval as he kisses her with an intensity that matches his own.

Her arms reach around his back, trail fire as her hands skim down his spine, rest along the waistband of his jeans. She shifts against him, her fingers moving to unbutton his pants as Wolfgang deftly unclasps her bra. They break apart to take off the rest of their clothing.

“Shall we test my hypothesis?” he smirks.

She nods her head.

He kisses her, snakes one hand to cup her nape, the other to curve firmly around her bottom. He lifts her just enough to turn and lay her gently on the low-lying bed, feet touching the floor. Kala hums her surprise, shifts her head to look up at Wolfgang as he braces himself over her with his elbows, not quite on the bed. “Oh,” she says, impressed and faintly accusing at the same time. “You've definitely done this before, Wolfgang Bogdanow.”

He smiles down at her, eyes warm with mischief and want. “Never for science,” he tells her. “You're my first.”

She shakes her head, but reaches for him, smiles a little against his mouth as he puts a tentative knee on the bed, leans his weight against it. The bed creaks but does nothing more. He lifts his head, eyes meeting Kala's, and puts a second knee on the bed, straddling her. The bed makes another noise but holds them. Wolfgang's brows raise. They inch cautiously forward, breath held, until they are both fully on the bed.

The bed squeaks but bears their full weight. Wolfgang flashes a grin; Kala chuckles softly.

He shifts to lie on his side, next to her; he sweeps the hair from her face, brings their foreheads together. She smiles softly, kisses him with gentle lips until his hand moves over her body. He traces her pelvis, follows the jut of her bone to skim across her groin. She hitches her breath, kisses him deeper as she mirrors his touch: palm glides over his chest, his waist. Her fingers coast over his pelvis, stroke the sensitive area of his groin.

They hardly notice the bed creak as they adjust to touch each other more intimately: as his finger curls inside her, as her fingers curve around him. Kala arches into his hand, murmurs his name; he moans low, hips jerk against her fingers. They kiss heatedly, sloppily. He takes her hand away, pins it over her head with his own as he shifts, braces himself between her legs. She tilts her hips up, impatient.

They ignore the plaintive squeaks of the mattress, dimly aware that the headboard strikes the wall with each frenetic move. Neither care enough to stop.

It's only later, when they are sweaty and sated and half asleep, that they notice the damage: a dip (maybe two) in the mattress that wasn't there before, scuff marks on the wall from the headboard. Kala is only grateful no neighbors are on the other side; Wolfgang is amused by her embarrassment. 

“And my hypothesis is right,” he says, drawing her into his arms.

Kala doesn't bother to argue, just hums noncommittally as she settles against him, closes her eyes.

“I love science,” he tells her.

She laughs quietly.

…

They are slow to get up when they wake, lazing in bed until noon when they mutually agree to get lunch before they shop for a new bed. There is no soap or towels in the bathroom, but they shower, rinse away the heat and sex, get dressed.

They check their phones before they leave: Wolfgang finds a voicemail from Sanyam, a reminder about dinner, at six.

There is no message from her lawyer, Magda, or from Rajan for Kala. 

…

There is still no word from Rajan by the time they arrive at the Dandekar residence for dinner,  20 minutes early. But Wolfgang has other distractions. 

Kala parks her car on the street. Wolfgang stares idly out the window.

“Hey.”

He glances at Kala. Her face is soft and reassuring, a faint smile on the corner of her lips. “There's nothing to worry about,” she tells him confidently. “You've charmed my father, and that's more than half way to getting my mother to like you. Everything will be just fine.”

Wolfgang gives a rough exhale, his face stern, more tense than he thought he'd be. He's faced down mob bosses with more _sang froid,_ but he hadn't wanted to impress them nearly as much as he wants Kala's family to like him.

Kala looks at him steadily, her manner quiet and firm. “Wolfgang,” she says, “I want them to accept you. I think they will try. But if they don't, it doesn't matter.”

He stares back, searches her face. He nods, sure that she is certain, but worried it may come to exactly that: He knows her family will always love her, but they may never trust or welcome him as they had Rajan. He gives her hand a slight squeeze and they get out of her car, walk the next few steps to the entrance.

Daya lets them in with an encouraging smile. “You're early,” she says, “Auntie Ina isn't even here yet.”

“She's not?” asks Kala, optimistic.

Daya throws her a telling look. “Don't get your hopes up,” she murmurs, leading them into the front room. “She will definitely be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, a little late on the update, BUT...Final chapter coming soon.  
> Thank you so much for your patience. 
> 
> And many, many thanks to Kinoglowworm for being so generous of her time <333

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but I seem to have a hard time with those. Right now this is rated M, but could be moved up or down, depending on how things work out.
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always, comments are much appreciated.


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